


Tangled and Tied

by otakuashels, Shuriken7



Series: A Collision of Worlds [9]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drama, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, Historical, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Lemon, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Romance, Secrets, Sex, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2019-07-07 02:24:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 188,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15898992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otakuashels/pseuds/otakuashels, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shuriken7/pseuds/Shuriken7
Summary: Big Ben chimed the hour, the bell signifying twenty-three hundred hours, midnight in Germany. Closing his eyes England felt his belly churn with trepidation. If Prussia had seen fit to message him quickly, a responsible thing to do for such a spastic person, then it really wasn’t good. This was not going to be something to end quickly.  The need to protect ached in his chest and the images of two young blondes filled his mind. Violet eyes he could shield and protect for the most part. Still under his hand. But those blue eyes. Those were beyond his borders now.





	1. On the Eve

_ January 1, 1914 _

 

_ Dear Arthur, _

 

_ Happy New Year! I’m writing to you from Tampa Bay (I don’t know if I’ve ever taken you to Florida, it’s really something else)! Swamps, alligators, dense forests... although people have been clearing for years to make farmland. Gotta have a compass around here if you end up off the road, everything looks really similar until you reach the coasts. I guess maybe you would have been here a long time ago when it belonged to Spain... well, anyway, you should come see what I’ve done with it.  _

 

_ We just opened the first commercial air flight service! It goes from St. Petersburg, Florida down here to Tampa. We’re calling it an airboat service, the plane can land in the water! No need for a runway. It’ll be a great way to connect the ports in the future. Who knows, maybe one day we’ll be able to fly from your home to mine, wouldn’t that be something? _

 

_ I hope that you liked the Christmas present I sent! I’m still not one hundred percent sure what that gadget you sent me is supposed to do... I’ll see if I can fix it.  _

 

_ Sincerely yours, _

_ Alfred _

 

_ *** _

 

_ March 10, 1914 _

_ Rokeby Park, Yorkshire _

 

“I was honestly surprised to see you arriving here,” England said quietly to Canada as they moved slowly through the crowd. The pair had decided to make their way into one of the most popular galleries at the time after they had taken luncheon at a local cafe just down the way. 

 

“Well, some of my suffragettes were traveling here for a meeting, and it has been a while since we visited. I wanted to take the chance.” Canada smiled softly. It was the truth, often America spent time crossing the ocean to see England, while Canada did not make the trek. England glanced at him sidelong, the boy did always seem more comfortable at home. 

 

“Ah yes, I did hear about that. Some of them might as well be British citizens with how much time they spend on this side of the Atlantic.” England shook his head, peering at some of the paintings lining the walls. “Honestly, as long as they remain calm. Their actions have become increasingly violent.”

 

“Are you truly surprised?” Canada cast him a glance, watching the British nation shake his head. 

 

“No, what they were doing in the past wasn’t garnering much attention.”

 

“But there is no need to be so violent. It hurts innocents in the process, right?” Canada finished. “It’s like they are stuck between a rock and a hard place.” He sighed “Everything is wrong and everything is right.” He ran his fingers through chin length hair. He turned his attention as a familiar dress caught his attention. “Ah there. One of the ladies that came with me.” 

 

“Yes. I believe I’ve met her. Mary Richardson was it?” They watched the woman slip through the crowd, purpose in her step. “Are they having a meeting here?” England asked, looking to Canada who shook his head in confusion. “She's carrying something under her arm. An oddly shaped package by the looks of it.” 

 

“I don’t think they are meeting until later this evening, actually.” Violet eyes focused on the painting where Mary had stopped. He had been here before and this was not the first time seeing that painting. “That is the Rokeby Venus is it not?” Canada asked quietly. 

 

“Yes, we've had it since 1813, the rest of Diego Velázquez’s nudes were destroyed in the Spanish Inquisition.”

 

“It’s really the last one? I knew it was rare, but I didn’t think it was that rare.”

 

“Antonio’s people strongly policed the painting of nudes as a rule of thumb. Although Velázquez painted a handful, this was the only one that was saved.”

 

“That’s... impressive. I can see why Mrs. Richardson is so enamored by it then. I am guessing the significance is on the gold-plated plaque beneath?” 

 

“Yes,” England nodded, smiling to a small group of women and stepping to the side out of their way. 

 

“Oh  _ merde _ .  _ Merde _ !  _ Marie _ !” Canada’s shout was punctuated by a loud thwack, shouts, and screams. Turning quickly, England watched in horror as The Rokeby Venus was taken by a meat cleaver.

 

***

 

_ "I have tried to destroy the picture of the most beautiful woman in mythological history as a protest against the Government for destroying Mrs. Pankhurst, who is the most beautiful character in modern history. Justice is an element of beauty as much as colour and outline on canvas. Mrs Pankhurst seeks to procure justice for womanhood, and for this she is being slowly murdered by a Government of Iscariot politicians.” _ England lowered the paper to look at Canada over the top. The boy was staring down at the hotcakes on his plate, drowning them in syrup, the tips of his ears bright red.

  
“Arthur I am so sorry…” Canada muttered, looking up in shock when Arthur chuckled. 

 

“I cannot believe she took it out with a bloody meat cleaver.” Arthur laughed, folding the paper and placing it on the table in favor of smothering a scone. He shook his head, chuckling to himself. “Oh, the letter I am going to receive from Antonio.” He paused, looking at Canada. “Oh Matthew, the letter you are going to receive from Antonio.” He shook his head. “You might want to have France send him a message on your behalf... he’s going to be livid.” He shook his head as Canada groaned.

 

“Honestly.” Canada sighed, picking up a knife and fork to cut a thick slice of the stack, heavy with syrup, butter and cream. 

 

“At least one of you took my love for sweets.” England smiled as bright violet eyes smiled back. “So, I take it after breakfast you are still up for lessons?”

 

“Yes,” Canada nodded after swallowing. “I wanted to work on shields.” He lifted his glass of iced juice. 

 

“Shields it is then.”

 

***

 

_ April 9, 1914 _

_ The border of California and Mexico between San Diego and Tijuana _

 

America leaned on the door of his car, staring out into the desert. It was hot, the Joshua trees that he’d pulled up beneath providing little shade from the sun that was arching high overhead. If it had been fifty years ago, he would have accused Mexico of planning to have a shootout with him. He would have obliged, but he’d figured they were over that at this point. They’d been doing all right, but then Mexico’s people started a revolution and it was like a spinning door. Mexico was one way one day and another way the next. At the moment, he bore little resemblance to his old self. The rivalry felt like something long in the past, at least between who they used to be.

 

A mule appeared through the brush, pulling a wagon. America kept his hands still. Beneath the wide-brimmed hat, he could see that it was Mexico. In the back of the cart were a table and two chairs. America sighed. They were going to have to deal.

 

“Did we have to come all the way out here?” America asked, pulling his hat lower on his head before walking over to the cart and taking down the table and chairs as Mexico handed them to him. “We could have met in an office or on a boat, you know. Or better yet by the ocean. San Diego is nice.”

 

“Yes, I know San Diego is nice. It used to belong to me, Alfred.” Mexico crossed his arms and gestured to one of the chairs that had been sat out at the table. America sighed and dropped the bottle of whiskey he’d brought, while Mexico settled down the bottle of tequila. “We are discussing the problem here.”

 

“That your soldiers detained my sailors when they were just refueling? Something your president gave permission for by the way.” It had happened earlier that day along the Panuco River. The USS  _ Dolphin  _ had given the salute requested by the Mexican government and pulled into Tampico to refuel. When they had been carrying the barrels of gasoline, they had been forcibly detained by the Mexican soldiers and taken to the police station. As the American sailors spoke no Spanish and the Mexican soldiers spoke no English, no one was able to figure out who was supposed to be doing what. 

 

“My president that your president won’t recognize?”

 

“Well, you keep changing presidents so often, Alejandro.” America poured out a shot for each of them and they knocked them back. “Seriously, just do the salute and we’ll let it go.” The Navy Admiral had requested a 21 gun salute in apology.

 

“You really think that I will raise an American flag on Mexican soil?” 

 

America stared at him. “You know my people won’t tolerate the insult.”

 

“So much pride.” Mexico poured out two shots of tequila.

 

“What do you want me to say?”

 

“That you will let it go. If you’re people won’t tolerate the insult, neither will mine. You have interests in my country.”

 

“You of all people should know it’s not a good idea to threaten me.” America leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I thought we could be civilized about this.”

 

“Then turn the other cheek as they say.”

 

“They also say, give ‘em an inch and they’ll take a mile.”

 

“Then we are at an impasse, then?”

 

“I guess we are.” 

 

One more shot and America walked away, climbing into his car. The liquor was already burning off in his veins, it always took so much more than that to get drunk. Worse came to worse he would run over a cactus on his way back to San Diego. He needed to send a telegram.

 

Mexico was going to be sorry he wanted to push the issue.

 

Less than two weeks later, American forces were occupying Veracruz.

 

***

 

_ April 28, 1914 _

_ Bath Hotel in Felixstowe, Suffolk, England _

 

“Completely up in flames,” England said quietly as men in firehouse uniforms ran around him, men from the city joining in try and put out the fire. It was arson. To burn down a building just to make a point! Looking away from the flames that reached towards the sky, eating one of the longest standing buildings left in the town. He watched as the policeman dragged two women away, shoving them in cars.

 

“Suffragettes, the two of them trying to make a name for themselves no doubt,” a man in a police uniform approached him. “ Evaline Burkitt and Florence Tunks.” He shook his head and England reached for the bucket the officer carried. 

 

“I understand.” England admitted, watching the women. “I understand showing and fighting for what you believe. That bringing attention to a problem that has been ignored for far too long is important. But burning down a historic building is inexcusable.” He shook his head and ran to the water truck.

 

***

_ May 5, 1914 _

_ Buckingham Palace _

 

“Another blasted one! These are works of art!” England slammed the paper down onto the table, the breakfast porcelain clanking loudly against each other. 

 

“Did another rash woman butcher a painting?” George sighed, looking up from his breakfast. England eyed the King before looking down at the paper once again. 

 

“Yes.” England nodded. Holding up the paper England tapped the title of the paper, showing George he was reading from the Daily Telegraph. “They open up with _‘About half-past one, when the attendance was thinning for lunch, the crash of glass was heard, and an elderly white-haired woman was seen to be hacking at the Sargent portrait with a butcher’s cleaver.’_ They also has a quote from one of the academy students _‘With a number of other students of the school I had been studying this morning the very portrait which was attacked. A gentleman who was standing by her made some remark, which I did not catch, in defence of her action. This was resented by some other visitors, and one, a little man, struck the taller man a blow. I myself succeeded in getting in one or two blows at the tall gentleman. I don’t think he was with the lady, but, at any rate, he was evidently a supporter of the Suffragette movement.’_ And that is just the Daily Telegraph.” England shook his head and folded the paper turning to the next print. 

 

“And this is the  Daily Sketch  _ ‘pressed through the crowd, and aimed a blow at her. A man who put his arm in front of her to protect her was mobbed, and his glasses were knocked off and smashed.’ R _ idiculous,” England muttered, tossing the papers down. 

 

“I expect you'll be hearing by the night from Alfred,” George chuckled and England shot him a dirty look. 

 

“That's not funny”

 

***

 

_ May 20, 1914 _

_ Niagara Falls, Canada _

 

“Why do they think it’s any of their business?” America grumbled, poking at the eggs on his breakfast plate and frowning.

 

“I don’t know, because you tend to have a big brother attitude over the entire western hemisphere and then get into petty arguments with your neighbors,” replied Canada, giving America a stern look over the edge of his paper. America had arrived last night in a particularly foul mood, and he knew Canada was near to an outburst. America was surprised that he hadn’t laid into him yet.

 

“It’s not petty. If Alejandro thinks he can just do whatever he wants... His people are attacking mine. I’ve had to send ships down from San Francisco to pick up refugees.”

 

“ _ You _ think you can do whatever you want. That’s why you have to go to this meeting. Argentina, Brazil, and Chile asked me to host it so you two will make peace with each other. I swear, you two still wish it was the old west. Hell, you were asking me to try and talk to Alejandro only a few weeks ago.”

 

“Which you didn’t manage to do. And if it would end it faster I would let him take a shot at me.”

 

Canada sighed. “One, I was abroad. Two, I couldn’t find him when I got back. I tried. Three, if you two try that on my soil I’m going to kick your ass.” 

 

America eyed Canada for a moment and then went back to his breakfast. He threw down his fork a minute later. “Is he even going to show? For all I know he’s eyeing my border cities right now. His rebels better stay on his side of the border.”

 

“That’s like saying you could do something about the Loyalists. They were still your people, but you couldn’t help that they were passing England information.”

 

“Our revolutions bear little resemblance.” Canada shrugged and took another drink of his coffee. “I seriously don’t have time for this. I’m having labor riots all over the place. Did you hear about what happened in Ludlow, Colorado? We had to send in the army to get the company’s private police force and the coal workers to stop trying to kill each other! Those poor kids...”

 

Canada reached over and gripped America’s arm. “Regardless of how you feel about it and all the other stuff that is going on, we are going to try and make peace today, okay?”

 

“Fine, let’s get this over with.”

  
  


***

 

_ June 2, 1914 _

_ Berlin, Germany _

 

The evening was growing longer, America leaning back in his chair in front of the fire. Germany sat in his own. They’d spent the day talking about some of their inventions. As time had gone on, they’d shared more of their culture with each other. Americans studying at German universities, German people immigrating to the United States. Despite the long, and mostly genial, association, America didn’t know him that well. So, it surprised him when Germany asked him something personal.

 

“Alfred, I have been meaning to ask for a long time. What exactly is it between you and Arthur?”

 

“What?”

 

“In terms of international agreements. In the Samoas, towards the end... I thought maybe something was going on.”

 

“You did or Gilbert said something?” America said, feeling uncomfortable with the line of questions. The Kaiser had been asking quite a few questions of the American ambassador that morning. It almost felt like he was testing the waters. In regards to what, America wasn’t sure. Germany frowned into his beer glass and America figured he’d gotten it right. “You know him better than I do. He likes to gossip.”

 

“Not about possible war.”

 

“Who’s going to war? 

 

“I didn’t say anyone was going to war. It’s just... there have always been rumors about you two and I’ve always wondered who you would side with.”

 

“I’m not planning on any wars. I settled that thing with Alejandro over Veracruz.”

 

“And yet, you’re still there.”

 

“Like I said, I’m not planning on any wars.” Silence fell between them. Germany stared thoughtfully at the fire as America watched him, an unsettled feeling falling on his shoulders.

 

“ _ Ja,  _ that’s good to know.” He stood up. “It has been a long day, good night, Alfred.” He left the room, America still sitting by the fire. 

 

***

 

_ June 28, 1914 _

_ Buckingham Palace, London  _   
  


“I want telegraph connections to the personified nations of Austria and Hungary now!” England bellowed, slamming the doors to the room where George and his five prime ministers huddled over the telegraph. England stormed into the room, a telegram clutched in an angry fist. He had spent the afternoon reading contently, only to be interrupted by his personal telegraph groaning as it eked out a message. And then the blasted thing had died. Hungary had sent him the most brutal of messages.

 

_ Assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand by Bosnian Assassins. _

 

**_Stop_ **

 

_ Talk of mass scale retaliation Arthur.  Bad.  _

 

**_Stop_ **

 

Six set of eyes trained on him and England felt the impatience that already burned within his chest began to expand. What were they doing just standing around? There were things to be done! “I need to use that telegraph. I need to speak with Roderich and Elizaveta.” England pushed forward and the men hovering about the modern machine parted like the Red Sea. 

 

Dropping down into the seat England set to work with impatient fingers. More than once did his impatience and nerves result in clumsy fingers. By the third time, he had been forced to start over England threw his hands into the air in irritation and sucked in a deep breath. It was going to take forever if he was unable to get this under control. “It doesn't help when I have a committee of vultures breathing down my neck!” he barked, whirling about in the oversized chair. The machine in front of him hummed to life and attention snapped to the telegraph, England cursing softly as the message was relayed. 

 

_ He is so angry Arthur. Everyone is.  _

 

**_Stop._ **

 

_ I am _

 

**_Stop_ **

 

_ Arthur, He wants war.  _

 

**_Stop_ **

 

_ *** _

 

_ June 29, 1914 _

_ Buckingham Palace, London _

 

It was the sight of a motorcar bearing American flags that had England pulling his reins up short, his mare sounding protest and sidestepping several steps. Standing in his stirrups England peered out over the drive, urging her forward from grass and onto the pavement. “Whatever is he doing here for?” he murmured as he felt little fit touch his shoulders. In his riding gear and his cheeks burnt with sun and wind he was in no shape to greet diplomats, but some of the men looked his way and he knew there was no way to escape and change without appearing to have snubbed visiting dignitaries. 

 

The second rider with a mop of red hair and a black mare pulled hard alongside him. “What th’ bloody hell is that wee lil brat doing ‘ere Arthur?” Alistair peered at him with a frown. 

 

“I don’t know. I’ve received no word, neither formal or informal.” He looked at his Scottish brother in concern. “This really doesn't bode well. George is not one for surprises.”

 

‘Th' loon usually means trouble is comin'.”

 

England shot him a look. “Well, I have no option but to go and greet them. Do you want to come along?”

 

“Nae in th' least.”

 

“Oh, come now.” England stared at his brother and the Scotsman stared back before the larger of the pair heaved a sigh.

 

“Fine.”

 

“So much strife there is. No surprise, Arthur. The loud one always here at bad times, yes?” The high pitched voice sounded in his ear and he sighed, settling back into his saddle as they made their way onto the drive. A small group of men stood just outside the car and he watched as America stepped out of the back just as England and Scotland came around, the sounds of hooves loud against the drive. 

 

“Well, good morning,” England called out and the members of the palace turned and bowed their heads to the two men as they stopped their horses. 

 

“Howdy, Arthur, Alistair,” America said, grinning at them. “Can I, uh, talk to you, Arthur? I need to run something by you.”

 

England cast a glance at Scotland who sighed and shook his head. “If you want to wait in my parlor while my brother and I stable that would be for the best.”

 

“Sure, just don’t take too long, okay?”

 

“We will tak' as long it takes. Ya showed up unannounced an' interrupted mah brother an' i's time,” Scotland cut in with a glare at America.   
  


America frowned at him. He shifted to look at England, eyes asking a question that England couldn’t quite interpret. “I’ll be inside.”

 

England nodded and the two of them directed their horses towards the stables. An hour passed before the door to England's parlor opened and England walked in, pulling off his riding gloves. “Alfred?”

 

America sat on the couch, his arms stretched out along the back, staring at the ceiling. “I’m here.” 

 

“Sorry. That took longer than expected.” England sighed with a shake of his head, placing his gloves on the back of the couch as he stopped behind it to peer down at America. 

 

Looking at him, America reached up towards him. “You’re here now. Come sit with me.”

 

“I’m in my riding clothes. I’ll get the couch filthy. I need to wash up first,” England protested. “How about you keep resting there while I go get spruced up and I’ll leave the door cracked so you can tell me why you’re visiting.” 

 

“This year has been no good,” America said, listening as the tap came on in the bathroom. “Towns are burning down because they didn’t set up fire departments, Mexico is being a pain in my ass, and everyone is mad at each other again...”

 

“Yes, that's quite normal.” England left his clothes on the floor outside of his bathroom before heading inside. Running a cloth over his face and behind his neck. He leaned over the sink. Running his hands through his hair he dropped the cloth into the sink basin and headed back into his room and towards his wardrobe. “Nation stuff you know,” he added. 

 

“And my boss is making me go to Berlin again, so I thought I’d come to see you before I went.”

 

“Ah.” England tucked a white shirt into his trousers and grabbed a tie before heading back into the parlor. “How many days will you be staying here?”

 

“I can probably steal two nights, depends on if someone tattles on me for not going directly there.” He glanced at England and smiled at him. “I figured if I had to come across the Atlantic, I could at least see you first.”

 

“How scandalous,” England drawled, slapping America's thighs to get him to move them. “Although, I am afraid that if you planned to steal me away for supper then you shall have to share.” He settled into the cushions. “Alistair and I are heading to the pub this evening.”

 

He shifted on the couch, making room for England. “Trying to keep him from trying to leave?” As England settled against his shoulder, America pressed his nose into England’s damp hair.

 

England shook his head. “Alistair and I usually get together every couple of weeks. He may be an outright git but he is still my brother. Same with the lot of them. Insufferable. But family. You just missed Colleen. I took her to the playhouse while she was here.”

 

“That sounds much nicer than my last visit with Matt. He probably told you that he was asked to host a peace conference. I’m tired of wars. The one with Spain was a big enough problem, I don’t want to fight anyone else for a long while.”

 

“Well that hope might be for naught, considering all the tension you mentioned.”

 

“I think Alejandro and I have come to an understanding. I’m not backing off quite yet, but he can just fight his own battles. I don’t need to be a part of it.” America shifted, leaning his head on England’s shoulder. “How long is this thing with Alistair gonna take?”

 

“Tonight? Or how long is he going to stay?” England asked for clarification. 

 

“If we could steal some time, I just want to be with you. Pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist for just a little while?”   
  


“After supper and before breakfast more than likely. Those are the only certain times I can give you out of the blue, Alfred”

 

“Suits me. Just don’t come back too drunk, okay?” He smiled at him.

 

England gave him a look. “I was under the impression you were coming along. I can’t exactly leave you here. That would be rather rude”

 

“As long as Alistair doesn’t scowl at me the whole night. I’d rather go drink with Seamus.” America sighed, picking up England’s hand and playing idly with his fingers. “When are we leaving?”

 

“Within the hour.”

 

“I’ll get changed.” He picked up England’s hand and brought it to his mouth. The affection was simple, almost thoughtless. “I could eat a horse to be honest,” he said, releasing England and standing up.

 

“If you needed to change you should have changed with me,” England said off handedly. 

 

America smiled. “That could have been dangerous. It’s been two years since we’ve seen each other. Letters aren’t quite the same as the real thing.”

 

England eyed him carefully. “Which is why I said you should have come to change with me.”

 

“I might need help in there,” America said, voice full of suggestion.

 

“I would be a terrible host if I didn’t aid you, I suppose.” England got to his feet, following after him. “Whatever could you need help with?”

  
  


“I might need help with some buttons.”

 

“Forget how to dress yourself after two years?” England arched a brow and stepped forward, making his way down America’s chest slowly, fingers dragging down his sternum and belly as he went. 

 

“Something like that,” he said. With a grin, he pulled England to him for a kiss.

 

***

 

England and Scotland listened as America spun a tale about a harrowing adventure that took place down in the Texas area by the Mexican border. Scotland snorted in disbelief. “Ye a liar.”

 

“Spend some time in El Paso and you’ll learn anything is possible,” America replied, grinning. “Just ‘cause you ain’t seen a two-headed rattlesnake doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

 

England and Scotland glanced at each other before the blond of the pair spoke, “I am going to remember you said that, Alfred. Forever. And hold you to it.”

 

“I’m sure there’s one in a jar somewhere.” America shrugged. “You can’t call me a liar until you’ve looked at every rattlesnake in the world. Ask Matt, he’ll tell you.”

 

“No, but you're fond of going after other people for things that can't be real even if you haven't seen them.”

 

“It’s science. You can test the theory and others can repeat it,” America insisted, picking up his beer glass.

 

“Ye single-minded still.” Scotland shook his head and waved for more ale, England raising his cup as well.

 

“It suits me just fine,” America shrugged. 

 

England heaved a sigh as Scotland opened his mouth to bark a biting remark at the adjacent blond and England grabbed his arm. “Come on Alistair. You know how it always goes arguing with the younger nations. They don’t know any better yet. Leave him be.”

 

“I know enough.” America pouted, poking at the remains of his dinner.

 

England sighed and gave America a look. He couldn't balance the two of them out. Especially when one didn't want to be here and the other wanted to fight. “Perhaps it's time we turn in.”

 

“Oh aye, ‘turn in’.” Scotland shot England a look but got up from his seat regardless.

 

“Who put a bee in his bonnet?” America said, watching him go.

 

“Leave him be, Alfred,” England warned. 

 

America shrugged. “I wasn’t trying to piss him off.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Just talking.”

 

“Everything pisses him off.”

 

“As long as I haven’t pissed you off.” He smiled at him.

 

“Not more than usual,” he drawled, lifting his drink to his mouth. 

 

America chuckled and lifted his own drink to his mouth. “Better enjoy drinking with me while you can, it might be illegal the next time you come visit.”

 

“Really now?”

 

“Yeah, there’s some folks making noise about prohibition. They think that liquor makes me morally corrupt.”

 

“Well, they aren’t wrong,” England snorted, leaning back in his chair. “I guess that I’ll just have to make sure that any meetings I have are over here.” 

 

“You’d leave me high and dry?” America teased back.

 

“I am not going to suffer through the heat of D.C if there is no way that I can drink something to keep all the nonsense at bay.” He arched a brow. “I am serious about that fact. We can meet here in London.” 

 

“I doubt everyone will give up liquor.”

 

“But as a visiting dignitary I highly doubt I'll be near a drop of it if your people decide to rid yourselves of it... which lends to the concern that if such a thing happens is it a sign you aren't ready to govern yourself, quite yet?”

 

“Maybe we’ll be setting up a future without vice? That would be a whole new world.”

 

“I'll shoot myself before that happens,” he said dryly.

 

America rolled his eyes. “In that case, do you want something stronger?”

 

“Aren't you the one who told me not to drink too much tonight?”

 

“I did. Would you rather get out of here? You could show me the new house you told me about?” America looked at him, curiosity in his eyes.

 

England brightened at that. “Yes, I would love to show you my rose garden.”

 

“Then let’s do it.”

 

The Ford Model T rumbled to a stop on the dirt road the led up to England’s mansion on the outskirts of London. The American manufacturer had set up shop in Manchester only a year before and the vehicle had quickly become the most popular car in the UK. The drive had taken just over an hour and England parked the car with ease. There were fewer and fewer houses out this far and most of them were large mansions or old plots of land that had been passed down.  Reaching into the back he grabbed a lantern, the only lights being the stars in the sky. “Ready?”

 

“I was born ready,” America replied, hopping out of the car.

 

England rolled his eyes and turned the lamp on, stepping out of the car and shutting the door carefully. Walking around the front, he gestured for America to follow him down a small path up to his house. It was modest in comparison to many of the houses in London, but certainly not one of the smallest in the countryside. It sat two stories high and was styled as a Victorian mansion.  “It’s not much, although larger than my cottage out in Warwickshire. The plot of land is much bigger. I have a much larger garden out back as a result which I really do like it.” He smiled as he stepped inside and gestured for him to enter. 

 

Stepping inside, America observed the different knick-knacks that England had put up on a shelf by the door. “Looks really nice.” 

 

“I don’t get out here often, but it's lovely when I do.” He moved about turning on the lamps, the letters on the spines of his books catching the light. “I am going to put the kettle on.”  He moved towards the kitchen after hanging his hat and coat on the rack. 

 

Shrugging out of his jacket, America followed him into the kitchen, pulling over a chair and watching England putter around.

 

“Do you want anything?” He peered over his shoulder as the stove clicked to life.

 

“What do you have?”

 

“Tea... and coffee.”

 

“You’re keeping coffee in the house?” America leaned his elbows on the table. 

 

“Because I got tired of a certain American complaining about tea and throwing a fit because there was no coffee.”

 

“I have not thrown a fit over tea,” America said. England gave him a droll look. “Recently, anyway.”

 

“Oh, so tea will suffice then?”

 

“Iced tea.”

 

“Tea is not meant to be iced!” he said sharply.

 

“It works just fine, but you already have the coffee out so... I’ll take that.” He smiled. England huffed at him and went back to preparing the drinks.

 

“You are unbelievable.” England turned around with two cups of steaming liquid, clacking as he set them down on the wood table. Pulling out his chair he sat down primly, picking up his cup to take a sip, wrinkling his nose as America did the same. 

 

“Is something bothering you?”

 

England shook his head. “No.”

 

America took a big drink of his coffee. “You’ve been weird since 1912.”

 

“What do you mean?” England frowned, lowering his cup. “Nothing has changed.”

 

“I can’t quite put my finger on it... but even when we were... you know...” America took another sip of his coffee. “You felt like you were trying to make a point. Hold up a figurative shield or something.”

 

“I invited you here to see my house and my rose garden and you want to start a fight?” England said tightly. 

 

“I’m just wondering why.” America reached across the table, to lay his hand on England’s arm. “And I do want to see your house.”

 

“I'm tired,” England said shortly. It had all been going swimmingly and then the prat had wanted to start a fight again.

 

“Arthur...”

 

“It will look better in the morning light.”

 

“Okay.” America’s brow furrowed, fidgeting in his seat. Silence fell over them and England sipped at his tea with determination. “Your house is nice.” America paused. “Will I get to see the bedroom?”

 

England snorted. “I applaud you on that comment. Although your subtly still needs some work.” He put his cup down with a soft clack. Pushing his chair back England got to his feet. “Let's go, then.” 

 

America looked up at him, pushing back in his own seat. He stepped around the table, to hook an arm around England’s waist. He pressed a kiss against his cheek. “Show me.”

 

“You are incorrigible.” He frowned and rolled his eyes. Grabbing the cups, he moved back into the kitchen and placed them in the sink. Turning off the lamp, he gestured for America to follow him into the hall and up the stairs. Maps and paintings from all over the world covered the walls, all places where England had conquered and still owned. A small display of success. There were three doors on the top level, one on the right and two on the left. “Bathroom first on left.” He gestured but continued on to the second door that was ajar. Opening it the rest of the way, England lit the lamp just inside the doorway. 

 

A large four poster bed took up most of the room in blue, the walls decorated by intricate paintings from around England, covering most of the walls framed by intricately carved wood. Everything was detailed heavily, down the embroidery on the quilt covering the bed.  

 

“For a new house, you sure did fill it with a lot of sentiment.” America walked into the room, examining the pictures, and then sitting down on the edge of the bed. He ran his fingers over the thick fabric of the covering. He smiled at England. “This place feels like you.”

 

“Well I would hope so. It is my house.” He loosened his tie, laying it across quilt. 

 

“Thanks for showing it to me.” America reached over, taking England’s hand. He took his fingers, pulling him closer, hooking arm around England’s waist. “Don’t be so far away.”

 

A sliver of delight crawled up England’s spine at the comment and the proximity he was tugged into. “What are you going to do about it? I still feel that we are fairly apart,” he drawled. 

 

“This to start.” America hooked his fingers around the back of England’s neck and pulled his face down towards his own. He pressed his mouth against England’s, the kiss starting soft and then pushing forward with impatient urgency.

 

England returned the kiss, threading his fingers through America's hair, pulling back to remove the boys glasses. “It was just a couple of hours ago. Why so desperate?” he teased.

 

“I’m always desperate for you,” America said. “That’s my secret.” He made pleased sound when England tugged a little at his hair.

 

“I will never let you live that down.”

 

“You’ve been saying that a lot today.” America pressed his mouth against England’s throat, nipping a little at the underside of England’s jaw. “I don’t want you to forget that I want you.”

 

“I guess you’ll have to keep reminding me,” England breathed, before leaning down to pull the other into a kiss. It seemed as if they would not be going to sleep anytime soon. 

 

***

 

America’s shirt was loose in his trousers, they’d pulled on their clothes to eat breakfast and England insisted they eat in the garden. England had been in his sphere the whole morning, not far away from an affectionate touch. The older nation had even allowed him to hold him in his arms that morning, exchanging soft kisses until his stomach rumbled. He was waiting in the parlor, looking up when England appeared with a covered platter. “Breakfast, ready?” he asked.

 

“Yes. Come on.” He pointed to the French doors that lead to the garden. After the younger grabbed the door, England slipped through, inhaling deeply. It was like breathing in the cleanest air in the world. This far from the smog of London, surrounded by wild grasses and the perfume from his roses, it was like being cleansed of all impurities. The conversations of birds mixed with the chimes of fae talk as both mingled in his garden. The stone patio was lined with fruits and vegetable that were just beginning to bloom. The area seemed nearly swollen with plants. It was these and his herbs that he didn’t bother enhancing with his magic. He preferred to work them as naturally as possible. Setting the platter down on the large blanket strewed across the patio, framed by pillows, he stepped off the patio to walk further into the garden. Beyond these plants, he had no issue using magic to preserve his favorites. They needed it after all. A forever garden of blue roses filled the rest of his stone walled garden. “These are the same ones we talked of at Buckingham Palace on that cold day.”

 

America looked wide-eyed at the flowers. “We did?” he said, reaching out to touch the petals of one flower as though to make sure they were real. 

 

“Of course we-” England fell silent as his memory pieced itself together. It was when America hadn’t been himself. “Never mind.”

 

America looked up at him. “It’s okay if it was with, well, the other me. It’s over now.” He looked around at all of the bright roses. “They’re beautiful, Arthur, I’ve never seen one in this color before.”

 

“Hmmm, yes, aren't they?”

 

America nodded, walking back over to settle down on the picnic blanket that had been set up and pulling the lid off the food. “You should send some to me, they’d look nice in my garden, too.”

 

“They wouldn't grow.” He walked back over to the patio.

 

“Why not?”

 

“...they only grow here.” He sat down, crossing his legs.

 

America tilted his head, considering England’s answer. “I guess that makes sense.” He picked up one of the plates and began filling it with food. He chewed, hunger apparent on his face.

 

England picked up one or the dark scones and covered it thickly in jam. Pleased with the sweetness and crunch. “I guess you'll just have to come to visit if you wish to see them.”

 

“I’ll take you up on that.” America leaned back against the pillows. England rolled his eyes and turned to his tea to hide a smile. America shifted so he could rest his head on England’s leg. “I wish it was faster to get here. I’m working on that.” America closed his eyes.

 

“Start in one place and appear in the other?” England leaned back on his hands. This was his space. He felt comfortable here. Like there were fewer walls to keep up. 

 

“Wouldn’t that be something?”

 

“Yes, it’s very rare.”

 

“That makes it sound like you’ve done it.” America opened one eye to look up at him.

 

A secretive smile lifted England’s mouth and he looked at America for a moment before taking to his tea again. He wouldn’t deny or confirm it. Shifting, America reached up to grasp England’s knee. “I would hope you’d come to see me more often if it was possible. Don’t make me wait decades.” He smiled, picking up one of the pieces of toast and biting into it.

 

“I don't have many options, Alfred.”

 

“But you would if you could?”

 

“Sure.” England shrugged and reached over to refill his teacup.

 

America grinned. “You miss me when I’m not around, admit it.”

 

“I will admit no such thing!” England scoffed. America sat up, leaning into England’s space as he tried to drink his tea. 

 

“Fine, but admit that you like it when I’m here.” America nuzzled a spot beneath England’s ear. “That we work better together than you thought we would.”

 

“You are a quick learner, I'll admit.” England swallowed and tilted his head slightly. “Reliable in that sense.”

 

***

 

“Reliable, huh?” America said, pleasure spreading across his face at England’s version of affection. It wasn’t much, but he hadn’t outright denied anything.

 

“Yes. Enough I can trust you to come to my aid when called upon.” England shuddered, setting his cup down.

 

“What do you mean?” America asked, lips brushing against England’s skin as he spoke. 

 

“Well, you are an ally,” he murmured running his hands through America's hair. “I can call on you if things lead to war.” Leaning down, England pulled him into a kiss.

 

America kissed him back, fingers hooking around the back of England’s neck. He shifted, pressing closer into England’s space. “I had your back in the Boer Wars didn’t I? I’m glad you wised up in my war with Spain, too. I can’t believe you sided with that guy.”

 

“It's Antonio,” England offered as an explanation, allowing the taller to lower him to the blanket. “But in this next war I am pleased to know you shall have mine.”

 

America leaned up, carefully moving England’s teacup to a safe distance since he knew the other would complain if it got broken somehow. “What war?” he asked, focusing on loosening England’s tie and working the top button open.

 

“This business with Elizaveta and Roderich. All signs point to a war across Europe,” England murmured, undoing the few buttons America had bothered with on his own shirt.

 

America shifted to his left, pulling England with him so they could lay side by side. His brow furrowed, searching England’s face. The warmth that had been growing in America’s chest, cooled. This was a topic President Wilson had told him specifically to avoid. The telegram was still in his jacket pocket back in England’s bedroom. America swallowed. “Do we have to talk about this right now?” He offered England a flirty smile and hooked an arm around his waist.

 

“You’re the one who wants to have such talks of trust and relations every time we do anything.” England frowned, suspicion growing on his face.

 

America leaned in, but England pulled away. “Yeah, but...”

 

“There is a high chance that a war will occur across Europe and I will be able to call on you for support, right?”

 

America was silent, his face torn. He wanted to tell England what he wanted to hear, but that was his own feelings talking, not the feelings of his people. “Arthur... you know that I can’t go to war without Congress’s approval.”

 

“Well, yes, but you can push.”

 

“My boss said I’m not allowed to make any promises to anyone. We’re trying to stay out of wars right now. I wouldn’t have been fighting with Spain if he hadn’t sunk my ship. He threatened my interests so everyone was for it.”

 

England scooted back a bit. “So if Europe goes to war and I call for aid you will immediately reject it?”

 

“Aid you’ll have. I doubt my people would be opposed to sending goods. It’s what we’ve always done, sell to everyone.”

 

England sat up and stared at him. “Honestly.”

 

America sat up, crossing his legs. “If there is a war coming, it’s got nothing to do with me right now.”

 

“Good to know,” England said tightly. 

 

“It’s not your fight either, Arthur, you could just stay out of it. I remember what you looked like during the Boer War with the new weapons, this new one is going to be like that but worse.”

 

“Do you know how many protectorates I have?”

 

“Why would they go after them? From what I hear Roderich’s pissed at Serbia. All that means is that he’ll have to deal with Russia.”

 

“Wars with big nations hardly end simply.”

 

America frowned. “I know that.” He reached towards him, trying to touch England’s face, but he leaned away from him. America curled his fingers against the palm of his hand and let his arm drop. “Arthur, I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise what my people will decide. You know that.”

 

“Oh, I understand.” 

 

America pushed up from his seat, back to England as he hastily began buttoning his shirt. “You know how it would look if I just ran to help you when I have nothing to do with it? That everything I’ve been through  _ with  _ you would have been for nothing. They would question my status, my accomplishments, my authority to do anything! You only came to help me when it suited  _ you, _ ” America turned to face him. “I practically begged you in the past to help me as much as it fucking hurt and you didn’t push your government to help me. I don’t have to have your back. I don’t belong to you.”

 

England bristled with indignation. “This is how allies work, Alfred.  _ You _ are the one who wanted to play with the big boys and now that you have to join in such things that affect the world you don't want to play!?”

 

“I never said that! And our treaties don’t say anything about hoping to like a good little colony of Great Britain!”

 

“Did I say anything about that!? About colonies!?  _ No, _ I said allies!” England snapped.

 

“We  _ are  _ trade partners and involved in close diplomatic ties. It’s certainly an allyship, but... I can’t promise you that my people will decide to support you! I don’t want to be in a war, Arthur! Especially not one that has nothing to do with me!”

 

England snorted. “You think when all of Europe goes to hell in a handbasket your trade relations will be unaffected?”

 

“What, you’d sink my ships?”

 

“To stop you from supplying the enemy?” England said slowly. “Everyone would.”

 

America ran a hand through his hair. “Arthur, it’s all hypothetical. And if you sink one of my ships I definitely won’t be able to talk anyone into supporting you!”

 

“Then we better hope I don't send one of them to the bottom of the sea,” Arthur said, terse.

 

“You’re unbelievable.”

 

“Took you long enough to see that,” England grunted getting to his feet.

 

America stared at him. “Fine. I’m going home.”

 

“I need to wash up then I'll drive you back,” England said tightly and turned on his heal, leaving America in the garden.

 

***

 

_ July 11th, 1914 _

_ New York City _

 

America smiled as the music began at the start of the baseball game. It was warm summer, the insects already buzzing and the crowd sweating for a chance to see the fresh-faced teams that would continue to play throughout the summer in cities all across the country. There was a new player, who called himself Babe Ruth, that was said to be a player to watch.

 

Leaning back in his seat, America sipped at his bottled cola and waited for the opening pitch. He needed a good day. His birthday hadn’t exactly gone smoothly. A bomb that was meant for John D. Rockefeller had blown prematurely, destroying a Lexington Avenue apartment building. That had not been the morning he’d been expecting at 9:15 when the news of the grisly explosion came. Twenty people beyond the perpetrators themselves had been hurt and one had been killed. A “gesture of protest” it had been called against Mr. Rockefeller and Standard Oil. He’d sent a telegram to England about it, to ask him what he was doing in regards to his own anarchists. The silence was deafening even across the Atlantic.

 

England’s attitude didn’t sit well with him at all. It wasn’t his fight! The power plays that were going on in Europe hadn’t changed a thing. Trade still went on even as they shouted and invaded each other. America checked the newspapers every day to see if England had gotten involved in the debacle. No one had asked him, yet, but America knew it was only a matter of time.

 

“Mr. Jones.” came a voice at the end of the row. America glanced over, frowning when he saw the tidy suit of someone not there to enjoy a baseball game. He apologized to the people he had to step over to get to the dark-suited government official.

 

“This game is going to be a good one,” he said.

 

The man at least looked apologetic. “Yes, it probably will. There’s an incident... a crowd is forming in Union Square.”

 

“Why?”

 

“To memorialize the terrorists that died on Lexington Avenue. We’ve called the police in to monitor the situation. Thousands appear to be arriving.”

 

“It’s fine, I’ll come.”

 

“The mayor would prefer you weren’t seen. If they saw you... they might think you agree with them.” 

 

America looked at the man. “Part of me does. After all, they are my people, too.”

 

***

 

_ August 3rd, 1914 _

_ Buckingham Palace _

 

“What is Ludwig thinking?” England’s hands fisted over the dispatch on the table. “Belgium is neutral!” England straightened, running his hands through his hair in frustration as Prime Minister Herbert Asquith and Edward stood next to him reading over the dispatch.  

 

“Why were they even bothering with Belgium?” George frowned. England moved untouched teacups out of the way to grab an older note. 

 

“Because the German government wants to move military forces through Belgium so they could invade France remember? Francis and his delegates reached out to us with concern just a couple of weeks ago. Of course Belgium, being neutral, refused the demand. German troops invaded Luxembourg just yesterday.” England swallowed. 

 

“We need to give the Germans an ultimatum.” Lord Asquith announced and two sets of eyes fell on him in surprise.    
  


“You aren’t suggesting what I think you are Herbert?” England gestured to the papers. 

 

“A declaration of war? Yes.” The Prime Minister nodded. “Belgium is an ally, and as you mentioned a neutral ally at that. That’s the only proper response.”

 

“Well, yes...” England looked back at the paper. “But we can’t jump the gun. We have to give them time. Let me reach out to their personified nation. Him and the one of old.” England looked quickly between his Prime Minister and his King. Going to war was not a rash decision to make. He had seen it done in the past and it rarely ended well. Staring at the two men, England waited impatiently for them to agree. Once he had them, England all but ran from the study, heading for his own.  Of course, the Prince had a personal telegraph, bulky machines, but he had his own as well. A gift from Victoria, of course, accompanied by a jab that it was to stop him and America from clogging up the official lines. Upon reaching his office he pulled a heavy key from his waist pocket and unlocked the door. One could leave nothing to chance during such a time as this. However, he didn’t even have the chance to sit down and send a message for one was already waiting for him. It was from Prussia. 

 

Reaching over he grabbed the piece of paper, reading it quickly. It was simple, short and very to the point. 

 

_ There is nothing I can do, nothing you can do. I tried. Get ready. Gilbert.  _

 

_ End _

 

“Dammit!” Leaning over he punched away furiously. Prussia needed to try again! Try harder!  __

 

_ Try Again Gilbert! You have till midnight your time! Fix it! _

 

_ End _

 

_ *** _

 

“Dammit Gilbert, were you ever able to do anything right” England muttered, fingers curling around the railing of his balcony, as Big Ben chimed the hour, the bell signifying twenty-three hundred hours, midnight in Germany. Closing his eyes England felt his belly churn with trepidation. If Prussia had seen fit to message him quickly, a responsible thing to do for such a spastic person, then it really wasn’t good. This was not going to be something to end quickly. 

 

The need to protect ached in his chest and the images of two young blondes filled his mind. Violet eyes he could shield and protect for the most part. Still under his hand. But those blue eyes. Those were beyond his borders now. His other colonies needed troops immediately. 

 

Germany had left him no choice. Belgium’s neutrality had been protected by Great Britain as far back as 1839 and Germany had set sights on that small country to be his punching bag. 

 

The doors on the balcony below him slammed open and light burst into the night air. Admirals and captains, clerks and dignitaries, poured out onto the balcony, patrons who would normally be sleeping spilled from their houses, all eyes on the palace. Like a wave, song washed over London, probably all over England, smaller cities and town alike ‘God Save the King’ filled the air. 

 

It was then, England could feel it. The dispatch of the war telegram ‘ _ Commence Hostilities against Germany.’   _

 

It was almost as if he could see it with his very eyes, one message sent out hundreds of times, to ships, places of diplomacy, all over the world to places under the White Ensign on August 4th, 1914.

 

They were at war. 

  
  
  
  



	2. It Hurts

_ August 4, 1914  _

_ Washington D.C. _

 

America had gotten the news right before dinner. The telephone had rung in his house in D.C. The words froze him in his tracks. “Great Britain has declared war against Germany. The declaration binds all Dominions under British rule. President Wilson will be briefing Congress today.” America dropped the earpiece to the phone. The voice was muffled, hanging from the cord on the other end. 

 

“Arthur... damn it!” he muttered. A sudden panic catching him in the chest he picked up the earpiece and told the secretary that he would be in Congress as soon as possible. Ending the call he spoke to the operator. “I need to make an international call to Canada.”

 

“Yes, sir, it may take a few minutes.” He waited, imagining the switchboards activating up the eastern seaboard. One cord to another slot as it connected the dozens of lines. No doubt, Canada would already know. Someone would have found him to tell him he was at war again. 

 

“Hello?”

 

“Matt!”

 

Silence. “Alfred.” 

 

“Is it true?”

 

“Yes... I probably won’t be joining him right away, but...” Silence. “Are you going to do anything?”

 

“I... I don’t know. The president is going to address Congress. They would have to vote to declare war, too.” He swallowed. “I don’t think that they will.”

 

“I’ll tell him you tried,” Canada said. “I... I have to get ready to be in Parliament with the Prime Minister.”

 

“Okay,” America paused, bouncing up and down on his feet. “Remember what we talked about?” He didn’t feel like he could say it over the phone where an operator could be tapped in. In fact, he was almost certain someone had to be listening.

 

“I remember. I’ll talk to you later, Alfred.”

 

“Bye, Matt.” 

 

***

 

He sat in the gallery, looking down at Congress arrayed in their seats. President Wilson hadn’t let him into his office beforehand. He could see the man now, looking over the papers in his hand. What was he going to say? America could feel the twists of the opinions in the room. Some for war and just as many against it.

 

President Wilson took to the podium. “ The effect of the war upon the United States will depend upon what American citizens say and do. Every man who really loves America will act and speak in the true spirit of neutrality, which is the spirit of impartiality and fairness and friendliness to all concerned. The spirit of the nation in this critical matter will be determined largely by what individuals and society and those gathered in public meetings do and say, upon what newspapers and magazines contain, upon what ministers utter in their pulpits, and men proclaim as their opinions upon the street.”

 

_ Neutrality.  _ He was asking for all of them to stay out of it. He was asking everyone to believe in it. America perched on the edge of his seat.

 

“The people of the United States are drawn from many nations, and chiefly from the nations now at war. It is natural and inevitable that there should be the utmost variety of sympathy and desire among them with regard to the issues and circumstances of the conflict. Some will wish one nation, others another, to succeed in the momentous struggle. It will be easy to excite passion and difficult to allay it. Those responsible for exciting it will assume a heavy responsibility, responsibility for no less a thing than that the people of the United States, whose love of their country and whose loyalty to its government should unite them as Americans all, bound in honor and affection to think first of her and her interests, may be divided in camps of hostile opinion, hot against each other, involved in the war itself in impulse and opinion if not in action.”

 

America could feel the truth of that. He’d told England as much for over a century. He was British, French, German, Italian, Polish, Russian, more... their people had become his and they would no doubt care about the places they had left or where their grandparents had come from. When England had asked... he’d felt dread at fighting those he’d called friends before. The fight could happen in his streets amongst his people even as the Europeans were fighting each other.

 

“Such divisions amongst us would be fatal to our peace of mind and might seriously stand in the way of the proper performance of our duty as the one great nation at peace, the one people holding itself ready to play a part of impartial mediation and speak the counsels of peace and accommodation, not as a partisan, but as a friend. I venture, therefore, my fellow countrymen, to speak a solemn word of warning to you against that deepest, most subtle, most essential breach of neutrality which may spring out of partisanship, out of passionately taking sides. The United States must be neutral in fact, as well as in name, during these days that are to try men's souls. We must be impartial in thought, as well as action must put a curb upon our sentiments, as well as upon every transaction that might be construed as a preference of one party to the struggle before another.”

 

_ Peace.  _ It was all that he wanted, really. He didn’t want any of them to be at war. Congress broke out into a flurry of conversations. 

 

It wasn’t until the next day that it was set in stone. The proclamation signed and sealed saying he would not intervene between Austria-Hungary and Serbia, nor Great Britain and Germany.

 

_ The United States will not accept commissions to serve in the belligerent armies. _

 

_ The United States will not enlist or enter any armies or navies, either as a formal soldier or a privateer. _

 

_ The United States will not hire anyone to join any military actions nor arm anyone who is joining said action. _

 

_ The United States will not deliver any armaments, commissions, nor allow anyone to carry armaments aboard American vessels. _

 

_ The United States will not augment any ships of war in American waters nor abroad. _

 

_ The United States will not allow its citizens to begin or set foot in the territories of the belligerents for the purpose of a military expedition. _

 

_ The United States will not allow any belligerent military vessels to use American ports or American waters and must exit any such area within twenty-four hours. _

 

“America, is there anything you would like to add?” President Wilson asked. The words were still bouncing around in his head. America couldn’t see a loophole, a way of helping that did not contradict the words of his president.  _ I do hereby give notice that all citizens of the United States... who may misconduct themselves in the premises, will do so at their peril...  _ It was towards the end an absolute statement to not break any of the comprehensive rules. Don’t break the neutrality under any means. Doing so would be perilous. It made America feel dizzy.

 

“No, sir,” America replied, taking a copy of the document. “May I use the telegraph?”

 

“Of course.”

 

America walked down the hall, dismissing the telegraph operator as he sat down at the machine. He tapped the note out quickly before he could rethink his words to England.

 

_ This is the decision. I’m sorry. I’ll do my best. _

 

_ Alfred. _

 

***

 

_ August 9, 1914 _ _   
_ _ Birmingham War Ship _   
  
“Oy, the fog is as thick as pea soup, your man is in the crow’s nest looking for a lighthouse beam right?” England entered the helm, walking up to  __ Birmingham’s Captain, Arthur Duff. England watched the captain with a measure of envy. He did not get to sail, nearly ever these days, and it irritated him to no end. Birmingham was a two-screw ship, a warship amongst two others that were made practically identical just in January of that year.   
  
“Yes, my Lord. And, in fact, he was just down here, told me something interesting.” The middle-aged man turns and gave him an excited look. “He thinks he may have seen that German u-boat we have so desperately been trying to find.”    
  
“Really now?” Surprise saturated England’s voice as he stepped closer to the windows, peering desperately into the fog. “I really can’t see a thing in all of this blasted fog.”   
  
“That’s why it's a tentative guess.”   
  
“It is so odd. If he can see them then that means they are atop the water. Something must be wrong.”   
  
“And why does that matter? Means they are an easier target.”    
  
“Yes. But also possibly more dangerous for us,” England warned, shuffling his feet. Despite being August, between the fog and the ocean, his toes were cold and the wind nipped at the skin his collar didn’t cover.  Swallowing, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat as silence fell over the helm, both men, all men on the ship doing their best to peer through the hinderance white. An immeasurable amount of time passed as they stood in silence, heightened by the fog and the tension that seized the ship. England reached for his pocket watch when a sound caught his ears. It sounded like metallic banging. “Duff, do you-”   
  
“Yes, I hear it.” The captain nodded “It makes sense.”   
  
“There would only be one reason that they would be breached like that and these kinds of noises. Do you think their engines failed? They repairing something?” England stepped back from the window. “So, how are we going to handle this?” He turned to look at the captain, unease sparking in his chest at the expression on the man’s face. “Captain, what are you thinking?”   
  
“I am thinking that we need to make sure that u-boat goes down,” the man responded, gripping the ship controls tightly.    
  
“Does this ship even have guns big enough?”   
  
“Takes too long to maneuver.” He adjusted the direction of the ship and England peered through the fog, eyes squinting.  It was then he heard the engines kick into a higher speed.    
  
“What are doing, Captain?” Arthur frowned as the ship continued to pick up speed and the man clutched the helm tighter. “Captain…”   
  
The man ignored him and moved to the door that led out to the stairwell. “Men to their stations! We are going to pick up top speed, hold steady!” he shouted. The sound of metallic banging grew louder and England lurched forward towards the window as a shadowy outline of a large vessel began to form in the fog.    
  
“Duff!” England shouted and the Captain barged back into the room and grinned.   
  
“Those Germans aren’t getting away from us!” he barked and England shook his head in disbelief looking to the men scrambling about.    
  
“Do not sink us,” England ordered and the man laughed loudly.

  
“As if some blasted German vessel will sink this lady!”   
  
“Hell wi-” The words were barely out of his mouth and he was knocked off his feet, the screeching of metal and a loud snap erupted into the air. “First u-boat for the royal navy,” England groaned, grabbing at his shoulder. “Bloody hell”    
  
***   
  


_ August 12, 1914 _ _   
_ _ London, England  _

  
“In accordance with many reliable sources of information, Austria has sent troops to the German border, under conditions that constitute a direct threat with regard to France. In the presence of this set of facts, the French Government is obliged to declare to the Austro-Hungarian Government that it will take all the measures will respond to these actions and these threats.” England laid down the paper,  _ The London Gazette _ , looking over the words as George heaved a sigh. England had hoped that Austria would have been willing to deal out harsh punishments, have his revenge and be done with it, but it appeared as if any hopes for such a thing were long gone.    
  
“Well, I believe that it was forward thinking to have passed the D.O.A.R then.” George nodded, his attention focused on his breakfast.    
  
“Yes... the Defense of the Realm Act, granting unprecedented powers to the government to control the economy and daily life,” England said quietly as he watched the new monarch in front of him. George had only come to the throne four years ago after his father Edward, son of Victoria and Albert, had died. He envied the young man who appeared concerned but not overly so, he was known in terms of war. Sure, the nation had been in a rather relentless amount of wars over the last few decades, but it had been decades since something so large loomed on the horizon. In a way, England also pitied the forty-nine-year-old man. He had no clue what was coming and just how much was about to happen. At this point they no longer had a choice, this was uncontainable. Austria-Hungary had refused to back down, assaulting Serbia and one of his oldest allies and now they were going to be handed a formal declaration of war by the British Empire. 

 

***

 

_ August 15, 1914 _

_ Panama _

 

It was going to change everything, America thought, leaning on the edge of the ship that was about to be the first to go through the locks of the Panama Canal. It had taken years to build but was going to shorten the distance to take goods from the Atlantic to the Pacific considerably. There was no longer any need to sail all the way around South America. 

 

He watched as the waters changed and filled, the ship buoying higher to reach the rest of the canal from the ocean waters. There should be more nations here, he thought, although Panama himself seemed pretty interested in the whole affair, even if some of their contentions were still present. It was an achievement that was going to change the world.

 

The silence had been deafening, even as America wrote to England hoping the letters would get through the morass of government and then military mailing systems. He didn’t even know exactly where he was, although he wagered he was in France. 

 

He straightened, planting a smile on his face and going back to the festivities on board ship. They were the western hemisphere and didn’t need to worry about Europe. America was determined to believe it was true, just for a moment.   
  
***

  
_ August 21, 1914 _ _   
_ _ Western Front _ _   
_ _ Mons, Hainaut _   
  
“Arthur, your forces are quite small, I ask once again if that is wise?” English with a heavy French accent asked the question for the umpteenth time and it took all of England's calm to not snap at his fellow officer. They were helping lead men to war, a fight breaking out between two commanding officers, especially from a Frenchman and an Englishman would do little for the company’s moral and possibly spike a fight between the men themselves. The history of the French and the English wasn’t exactly the cleanest. Inhaling deeply through his nose, and immediately regretting the action due to the stench, England glanced at France.    
  
“I told you. I had no option for the timing.” England frowned, tightening his grip on the horses' reins as it tried to lower its head to nip at the tufts of grass being trampled by hooves and boots. “I brought eighty-thousand men. Combined with the fact that your army has over one million men that should suffice. My soldier training is of the top in the world, I emphasize my men in rapid-fire marksmanship and even my most average of men are able to hit a man size target at least fifteen times in a single minute from three hundred yards away. We shall lay waste to the battlefield in one way or another.” His horse snorted in disapproval as he pulled on the reins too hard. “My troops shall be in the left of the allied line and that flank shall not falter.”   
  
“I sure hope not. My troops are already here fighting. My French fifth army is battle with Ludwig’s second and third armies.”   
  
“And yet you are here with me rather than your armies?”   
  
“Yes, because I needed to make sure that you are actually here to aid me,  __ mon ami, ”  Francis said lightly although the uncharacteristic tension in his shoulders and brow betrayed his nonchalance.    
  
“I gave my gentleman's word plus a treaty of alliance,” England said dryly. “We are all threatened by Ludwig's current state of insanity.”   
  
“You are correct in that.”    
  
“General Lanrezac has already agreed and ordered Field Marshal French has agreed to hold the Condé–Mons–Charleroi Canal for twenty-four hours to stop the German first army from breaking your left flank.”  England pulled his horse up hard as the army of men came to a halt, Francis’s horse side stepping nervously as the long-haired blond shifted in his saddle with nervous energy.    
  
“Go, Francis. My men and have ditches to build” England hoisted himself off of his horse, his sigh lost amongst the ruckus of men grabbing shovels. “Don’t go waste our efforts, knock that idiot down a notch.” He waved France off like a bothersome gnat, which resulted in a rude gesture and a flip of blond hair. Rolling his eyes, England handed off the reins to a lower rank man as the Field Marshal approached him. “Master French I need you to secure me a shovel,” England ordered, ignoring the man’s look of surprise.    
  
“Lord Kirkland, you don’t need-”   
  
“A shovel needs to be procured for me.” England turned and yanked on the bottom of his green coat with a snap of his wrists before securing his hat. “Am I understood? We need these ditches built and every man shall be down there with a shovel and pick in an effort to complete these as quickly as possible if we want to defeat these German bastards,” he barked and the man rigidly saluted before shouting at another man to bring shovels. When the man ran back and handed off the tools England gestured for them to follow, joining in on the line that was beginning to form alongside the canal. It was going to be taxing. They were going to need to spend at least a day digging before the battle would likely reach them and then they would exchange shovel for a gun. Drawing the heavy tool up, England thrust the iron head into the ground. It was like plowing the fields again. Men grunted and shouted at each other in a twisted sort of encouragement that was not uncommon with men and physical labor.    
  
They had already had small contact with the Germans that had resulted in the first British soldier killed in the war earlier that day. England’s hands tightened on the handle of his shovel. Private John Parr, a member of the bicycle reconnaissance team, had been killed outside of Obourg. This was not going to stand. That single thought spurred England forward, shovel hitting the ground with a ferocity only anger could bring. “Come on boys! These german bastards think they can outdo us they are in for a rude awakening about the British people!” he bellowed and a chorus of shouts responded, the clanking of iron against the ground increasing with determination. The adrenaline coursed through the unit and before anyone was aware night had fallen and with that bedrolls were laid out and activity fell from forte to piano in under an hour as sleep encompassed the group.    
  
***   
  


_August 22, 1914_ _  
_ _Casteau, Belgium_ _  
_ _0630_ __  
  
“They are falling back! They have noticed the trap, we cannot let them escape!” England screamed as the German lancers came to a grinding halt. It was like a surge of violent waves.. The singing of sabers leaving their sheathes split the air as Captain Hornby thrust his into the air. The order to charge erupted from the man and the dragoons gave chase to the Germans. England’s thighs burned in effort and his lungs shuddered as they charge across the grassland. Soft with recent rain the mud sucked at their boots in protest as if the land itself didn’t wish for blood to be spilled. But as mother nature had been taught time and time again that mankind had an unending thirst for battle. Reaching his horse as Hornby did England swung his leg over his horse before kicking her into movement.   
  
“They are turning ‘round!” A man screeched and England’s knees pressed hard against his horse's sides as bullets whistled through the air, screaming as they tried to pierce flesh. Another bellow sounded as Hornby charged forward, a crazy look in his eye to match his actions. England couldn’t help the cheer of victory as the Captain challenged a lance on horseback and his saber made contact, the first British soldier to kill an enemy in this war face to face. Gunfire began to increase as the entire German platoon turned around and began to fire.   
  
“Off your horses and open fire!” England shrieked “All your ammo to take them down!” England watched as the Drummer Edward Thomas threw his instrument to the ground, gun practically flying into his hands and fired, a man coming close falling to the dirt with a thud. “The first shot for the British army,” England breathed, muscle memory forcing him to the ground as a bullet whistled by his ear.   
  


*** 

  
“That cheese eating bastard pulled back, leaving us to shoulder the weight!” England slammed his hands on the table with a swear. “We were out there for three days!” The French army had pulled back and forced them to retreat as well. “Sixteen hundred men have died and it's all that frog's fault!” He turned from the table where the captain and field marshal sat. “That was supposed to be a new defensive line. Fuck!”  The Germans had won this battle.    
  
***   
  
_ August 28th, 1914 _ _   
_ _ Heligoland Bight, North Sea _ __   
  
“We need to make sure that we are set to ambush and destroy all German destroyers are their daily patrol.” Admiral David Beatty voiced the determination that lined the faces of everybody in the room.    
  
“Most of the German High Seas Fleet remains in hiding in the safe harbors,” Admiral Tyrwhitt argued.   
  
“And the British Grand Fleet remains in the North Sea. So what does that have to do with anything? We are still here to attack the Germans,” Admiral Keyes argued.    
  
“And you’re right. That is why we are here.” The three men snapped to attention as England stepped into the room. “At ease.” He raised his hand before shoving it back into his pocket. Stepping up to the table, England peered at the stacks of paper that had been stirred by the men’s argument. 

 

The only problem with having so many men in an army is that you needed more men in charge and when there were this many men in charge a fair amount of time was spent arguing over exactly who was right rather than actually coming to a conclusion.  “We need to come to a direct decision and I would prefer it to be within in the hour.” Saying it that way gave the illusion that he was allowing them to make their own choice, however, he was fully aware that they knew it would have to be done within the hour or face the consequences. England hadn’t thrown a man overboard in decades, not since his privateering days. The navy often frowned upon officials forcing men to walk the plank, although it was rather launching a man over the side since planks weren’t what they used to be. Someday though. England looked up with a smile “Understood?” It was the three salutes and a chorus of ‘Yes, Sir’ that set the argument back in motion. Yet, where sweat had beaded on upper lips and necks due to anger, now it was underlined with nervousness.

 

***

 

“All in all, the first naval battle of this bloody war is a success, and I won it,” England drawled, lounging back in a plush armchair in his parlor, France all but draped across his chaise with a glass of wine. 

 

“With all that lovely confusion.” France snorted. “I don’t think those German boys in the submarine realized you had so many ships there. Fools”

 

“With how scattered their attacks were they probably didn’t.” England nursed the steaming cup of tea in his hand with pity in his eyes as he shook his head. “They lost three of their light cruisers and I sunk the destroyer V-187, and that's just the ones that sank to the bottom of the North Sea, their three other cruisers had to limp back to the base with casualties.”

 

“Any guess?”

 

“I would say nearly fifteen hundred hurt and almost one thousand killed,” England said quietly, judging by how many men those machines could carry. “We took three hundred and thirty-six prisoners and Commodore Keyes recused two hundred and twenty-four sailors from the Lurcher.”

 

“And you?”

 

“No ships, lost thirty-five men and forty wounded. With the numbers game and the overall outcome, a success.” England shook his head.

 

“Well, let’s hope it continues,” France said seriously, despite his languid appearance. 

 

***

 

_ September 6th, 1914 _

_ Marne River near Brasles (East of Paris)  _

 

“He will not have Paris, Arthur!” France screamed in frustration as England dragged him backward. 

 

“We aren’t giving him Paris, but we need to retreat!” England wrenched on France’s arm, hard enough he briefly worried that he would dislocate the man’s shoulder. He was exhausted. He had left his men here on the French Western Front since the fourth of August and he had been forced to travel after the Battle of Mons to the North Sea to confront Germany there and now he was back again.  France had been falling back for days and England had heard the whispers from his men plus his own. Many were calling this the Great Retreat. England whirled around to stare at France as the man twisted his arm from his grip. Normally well-done hair was shoved back into a haphazard ponytail and blue eyes had turned black, pupils blown wide in panic. 

 

“Arthur, I’ve been retreating for ten days and they have chased me back to Paris-”

 

“Enough!” England shouted, shock twisting France’s features as strong fingers clutched at his shoulders, shaking him roughly. “I will not let you lose Paris! I will not let him take it you understand me!? I will not allow that to happen!” England’s teeth bared in a silent snarl, he watched the other stare back at him, a flood of emotions rushing across France’s face. “Do you understand me, Francis?” he said tightly. “You will not lose Paris in the battle. Not while I still draw breath.” 

 

“Arthur.” France’s face settled on relief, blue eyes bright with unshed tears. “I understand.” 

 

“Good.” Arthur released his shoulders and shook his head “Now don’t cry like a woman.” He sniffed “I know you’re French but knock it off,” he grouched and France laughed. 

 

“You are such an asshole.”

 

“I am not!” England snapped. 

 

“My Lords! There's been a break in the German line!” Marshal Joffre gasped as he skidded to a stop in front of them, gasping for breath, chest heaving. 

 

“Honestly?” England frowned, alarm rising in his mind. It could be a trap.

 

“We need to take advantage of it, Arthur. This may be our only chance,” France said quickly, staring at him before looking back to the General. “Move the fifth army. I want them to go right down the break,” France barked and England watched him for a moment before nodding in agreement. He had no officers in this army, he had let the British Forces fall under the French command for this period.

 

“It’s going to be a long night,” England sighed as the army swelled around them. 

 

***

 

_ Next morning... _

 

“Let me get this straight.” England stared at France in disbelief. “Six hundred taxi cabs?”

 

“Yes. Our reinforcements. They are on the way as we speak,  _ mon ami. _ ” France nodded as they walked through the camp, most of the men still sleeping. 

 

“Six hundred taxi cabs?” he asked again.

 

“ _ Oui _ . Each carrying five soldiers, the taxis drivers were instructed to only keep the backlights lit and to follow the backlights of the taxi in front of them. They gathered at Les Invalides in central Paris and the reinforcements are to be dropped at Nanteuil-le-Haudouin, about fifty kilometers away.” 

 

“To think. Motorised Infantry.” England shook his head 

 

“Of course, I want to stake that as a French move.”

 

“Bastard,” England spat, eye twitching as his blond companion chortled.

 

“Hon hon,  _ mon ami. _ ”

 

“Not your friend!”

 

*** 

 

_ October 14th, 1914 _

_ Plymouth Sound, English Channel _

 

“And here he comes with thirty-two ocean liners.” England smiled as the first of the Canadian expeditionary forces began to arrive in the sound part of the English channel. Canada had written to him declaring the large support from the majority of his people regarding the war and the mass amount of volunteers that had come forward to sign up and train at the grounds in England. 

 

It took the better part of an hour but the first cruise liner pulled in at the sound and as the anchor dropped Canada appeared at the taffrail, waving down at England who returned the gesture. He had been waiting impatiently for his Canadian troops and for the arrival of Canada himself. As the gangway was lowered England moved to edge of the dock as Canada hurried down it. England was caught by surprise as moments later he was being pulled into a hug by the quiet nation. 

 

“I am so glad to see that you are all right. I mean, I got your telegram, but still,” Canada said quietly, pulling back to look down at England. 

 

“Matthew, I do believe you have gotten taller,” he muttered, squeezing the boy’s forearm. “Come, they can handle moving the troops to the training grounds, I want to catch up.” 

 

***

 

“I am surprised that Francis didn’t tell you,” England commented dryly, whirling the bourbon around in his glass for a moment as he watched Canada refill his wine glass. They had taken dinner out in a pub before returning to the privacy of his parlor so that they could discuss official business. Dinner had been for talks of nonwar related things and laughter behind pints of ale as they took turns snuffing and relighting the fireplaces to the exasperation and horror of the bartender and the rest of those in the pub.  

 

“He said a little, we are... in the middle of a tiff right now.” Canada shrugged. “Plus, I wanted to hear it from you. We are direct partners in this after all, right Arthur?”

 

“Yes…” England sighed, taking a drink to wet his throat before repeating the spiel he had given to Parliament. “French casualties came out to about two hundred and fifty thousand men, eight hundred of them died and I lost just under two thousand. This is from late August.” He shook his head in disgust. “Didn’t even want to go to war... but Ludwig just had to invade. And the dreams of a short war are no longer valid.”

 

“I’ve noticed that,” Canada muttered, purple eyes darting to the two bright spots of light settling atop the chair England was sitting in. The fae here were much more bold with England than those of his homeland with him. 

 

“Hopefully Ludwig realizes that he has made a terrible mistake and that his pride is not so large that he cannot come to an early truce.” An uneasiness settled over the room and England cleared his throat. “I noticed that you were rather good at your flame control earlier. I dare say you have actually been practicing this time.” He smiled as the color came to pale cheeks. A sense of pride flared in his chest as the other nodded. “I am glad you are finally taking this seriously.”

 

“I have some people of such talent in my country...”

 

“Well, yes, but so does Alfred.” 

 

“I think because Francis... had such a hand in my early rearing…”

 

“I suppose.” England sniffed, he had no desire to talk about France more than necessary. “Did you want to see my gardens at my home outside London?”

 

“Yes, of course!” Canada said excitedly. If it was one thing he had gained from England it was his passion for gardening. England had sent him tidbits on how to use his own arcane talents in an effort to raise his plants in a less than hospitable growing environment in the offseason and that was what had truly spurred his studies on. His personal garden was overcrowded with maple seedlings and blooming irises.

 

“Lovely.” 

 

*** 

 

_ November 1914 _

_ New York City _

 

America walked through the rows of men with their accounting books open in front of them, tallies and calculations being scrawled on loose sheets of paper as numbers were read out from the raised platform. It was almost business as usual, as the traders were working with bonds as opposed to stocks. 

 

He swallowed. There had been a drop in the prices, a risk to the economy. Granted, it had been a risk to the economy that had closed it in the first place. But also a safeguard. It wasn’t exactly a secret that he owed money. There had been a worry that several nations in Europe would call for that debt to be paid immediately with money he didn’t have. Especially in England. He owned $3 billion in railroad bonds. The other countries combined held another $1 billion. People had run on his banks and he needed the money. Money that America didn’t have.

 

Beyond that, the Dow Jones had dropped twenty percent since the beginning of the year. It was easier to close down when trading was bad. It wasn’t like he was the only one to close. Markets had closed to trading across the world. If New York hadn’t shut down too, the financial panic across the globe could have fallen directly on him.

 

He paused in the corner, watching trading slowly resume. He needed to make sure that the money stayed with him. The gold couldn’t end up in European banks to be used as bargaining chips later. His people couldn’t lose everything over that mess. The dollar had fallen in value anyway since the European markets were afraid he’d stop using gold as currency.

 

America leaned his head back against the wall. He didn’t want to be in the war, but England had been right. He was in it, whether he wanted to be or not. 

 

***

 

_ December 24th, 1914 _

_ Personal Residence of Arthur Kirkland _

_ London, England  _

 

He had promised the royal family he would come in for Christmas eve supper and for Christmas itself. However, he needed some time at home. England placed a half drunk cup of tea down at the end table next to his couch, rubbing at his chest with an uncomfortable grunt as a sharp pain lanced its way from his hip to his shoulder. More an annoyance than a pain, but more than he had felt at the palace.

 

Four days ago, it had felt like someone had slapped him in the chest, catching him so off guard he had tumbled down the stairs to a heap at the bottom, sending Canada into a tizzy along with half the parliament. It hadn’t been anything really but Canada had insisted that he deal with the King and the set up of Christmas on the palace. He requested that England retire to his personal lodging until the holiday. By the time they had his necessary belongings loaded into a motorcar, a telegram had come through. There had been a  bomb dropped in the English Channel by Dover. 

 

Installing a telegraph in his house was one of the best and worst decisions of his life. It was nice because he didn’t have to race to the palace every single day to get news on days when he would rather tend to things like his garden and not be surrounded by diplomats, they could simply contact him here. However, that was also the bad part. 

 

Pushing himself off of the couch where he had been focusing on his needlework, he headed up to his office where the clicking of his telegraph could be heard. Stepping around his desk to the smaller table where it sat nestled between his bookshelves he picked up the paper, the air catching in his throat. 

 

**Bomb actually dropped on soil in Dover.**

 

Stop.

 

**Coming to get you, Arthur. Matthew.**

 

Stop.

 

“Fuck!”

 


	3. White Caps

_ January 19th, 1915 _

_ London, England Buckingham Palace _

 

“Damn, my head!” It was a sharp, splitting headache that pulled England from his sleep _.  _ It felt like he was going to vomit. Clutching his head, he swore once more, hands finding purchase in his hair, blinking furiously against the double vision before screwing his eyes shut. “What the hell?” Curling in on himself, England counted his breaths and then the headache was gone. “What in the world?” He cracked one eye open, afraid the headache would return if he opened his eyes. Stretching out, he blinked against the darkness in the room. 

 

Rolling over his hand hit the empty space on the bed beside him. How long had it been empty really? It felt longer than it probably had been. In effort to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that began to make themselves known to his mind, England forced himself to think about the headache. It was out of nowhere and then it was gone. Similar to the pain in his chest. He had a sneaking feeling what it was. Pulling his blankets up to his shoulders once more, he sighed, hoping sleep would come fast. All he could do was wait. And wait he did. 

 

It was the door swinging open and bouncing off the wall that woke him this time rather than a pounding headache. England found himself staring at Canada in the doorway with a panicked expression on his normally calm features. “I was bombed again?” England asked.

 

“Are you okay, Arthur?!” Canada made his way over to the bed and England pulled back the blankets of the empty space, patting it. 

 

“Yes, yes. Come here. I had a headache earlier but nothing more.” He smiled as the younger blond took the hint and climbed into the bed, pulling the blankets up as well. 

 

“Yes... you were bombed. I was told to not let you leave ‘cause there is little that you can do at the moment. His majesty wanted you to rest. Are you sure you’re okay?” Canada’s voice was laced with concern as he laid his head on the pillow next to England’s. He turned on his side to face him. England blinked at him, America’s fondness of the work “okay”, made up as it was, appeared to be catching.

 

“I am okay,” Arthur repeated, the realization that it had snuck into his own speech surprising him. It was the chaos, had to be. He would need to fetch details of the attack after Canada was asleep. Wiggling his fingers, he hoped the fae who guided pleasant dreams would beckon his silent call. 

 

“I thought this war was to be quick,” Canada protested, his fingers finding England’s as if needed reassurance the other was still there with him. Their magic hummed for a moment, as one’s always did when coming into contact with another arcane gifted. 

 

“The goal was no war, then a quick war and it seems that all of those hopes are dashed,” he murmured. “We can worry about it in the morning.” The chime of a fae’s presence caught his attention. “Dear Matthew... we shall need our strength for tomorrow. For now, sleep.” 

 

***

 

_ February 2, 1915 _

_ On the border of the United States and Canada between Maine and New Brunswick _

 

A German soldier had bombed a bridge last night. That was all he’d been told when he’d gotten on the train in D.C. that morning to travel up to Maine. It was one of the bridges that traveled between St. Croix, New Brunswick and Vanceboro, Maine. When he arrived in town the windows were shattered nearby the rail terminal. He could see the inspectors, both Canadian and American, checking the twisted steel on the Canadian side of the bridge. 

 

He shivered, the weather cold, his breath coming out in puffs. The Vanceboro sheriff walked towards him. “They think the damage is minor and won’t take long to repair.”

 

“A German soldier did this?”

 

“Since we’re not at war with Germany and he surrendered to us... we can’t really hold him on anything other than mischief for breaking the windows. I know,” the sheriff said to the incredulous look on America’s face. 

 

“Where is he?”

 

“In the jail. We’re going to have to move him soon, folk aren’t happy about the damage to town.”

 

“I want to talk to him.”

 

The sheriff nodded, waving for him to follow. “His name is Werner Horn, German citizen. He says he met up with someone named Von Papen...”

 

“The guy from the German embassy?” America stopped in his tracks. If this was true, Germany was going to be hearing from him.

 

“Interesting. We weren’t sure who he was talking about. Anyway, says he met him in New Orleans and was paid $700 to do this. Set the bomb on the Canadian side and ran across to our side. We arrested him at the hotel he’d been staying at.”

 

America nodded, listening and feeling the annoyance well up in his chest. England was detaining American merchant ships whenever they came across his navy. Germany was threatening to sink them, had taken credit for sinking more than one. He’d only stopped when America had warned him. 

 

Now he was using his lands to attack Canada? No way was that happening. He looked in the cell where a man sat in a German uniform. “Why did you do this?”

 

“I would rather be fighting back home, but I could not get there.”

 

“So you fought here? The United States is neutral territory.” The man looked unapologetic and muttered something in German.

 

“ _ Ihre Leute sollten auch vorsichtig sein, _ ” replied America, seeing the man’s eyebrows raise. “You’re not the only one who speaks that around here.”  _ You better be careful, Germany, the rest of you have no idea what I’m capable of. _

 

***

 

_ May 3, 1915 _

_ London, England _

_ RAF Northolt _

  
  
  


***

 

_ May 7, 1915 _

_ Old Head of Kinsale, Ireland _

 

America had been talking to someone. That much he could remember before it happened. The first explosion and then the second one, the ship immediately beginning to lean. A rush, trying to help get the lifeboats loose. People screaming. Hours in the water. The cold was the last thing he remembered.

 

A torpedo. 

 

A German u-boat had sunk a ship carrying over 1000 passengers and hundreds of crew. No warning. No chance to let the passengers get to the lifeboats.

 

***

 

“Alfred?” England pushed through the crowd, the diplomat who had found him trailing after him nervously. England sucked in a breath of relief and panic when he realized that other man had been right. America had been aboard the ship. He was here now, safe, but he had been aboard the  _ Lusitania _ . 

 

Pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders, America looked up. “Arthur? What are you doing here?”

 

“I had meetings with Seamus this morning.” England knelt in front of him, grabbing his knees. “Are you all right?” He shook his head. “Of course you’re not.” He glanced back at the diplomat. “Find someone to fetch my motorcar. I am taking Master Jones with me. No, don’t give me that look. That’s an order. Now,” he bit out, turning back to America as the Irish diplomat scurried off. “I... I can help you more when we get to the temporary quarters,  but... do you need an extra blanket or... something to drink?”

 

“No,” America said. “Do they know how many yet?”

 

England shook his head. “No... people... bodies are still being pulled from the water,” he said quietly. 

 

“I don’t understand. This was a civilian vessel. I’ve been on this ship before.” He looked up, a frown crossing his face. “Do you think he planned it? They published a warning in my newspapers the day before we sailed.”

 

“Quite possibly. However, there’s no proof as yet.” England nodded as he spotted the diplomat. “Come to your feet. I'm taking you to my place here, get you changed, and something hot to eat.”

 

America nodded, following him out of the building and climbing into the passenger seat of the car. 

Shutting it behind him, England moved to the other side and climbed into the driver’s seat slamming the door shut in a hurry. Moving the car into gear, he turned the wheel sharply beginning to move his way down the road and out of the large group of panicked people. Silence fell over the car as they exited the harbor area and moved further into town. They passed through, leaving it and passing further out into the countryside. It took no more than 5 minutes before England was turning the wheel left and rolling down a bumpy dirt road to a small cottage that was away from everyone else.

 

“I want to lay down,” America said, stepping out of the car.

 

“Of course.” England hurried in front of him, opening the door so he could step through. It was small, homely and offered the basic necessities anybody could ask for. The living room was crammed with oversized furniture and books and there was little space between that and the small kitchen in the corner. Two doors opened along the back wall one leading into a bathroom and the other into a bedroom where a large bed took up nearly the entire room. “Go ahead and take off your clothes. I'll find you something dry.”

 

America nodded and walked into the bedroom, dropping the blanket to the floor. His clothes were wrinkled and stained from the sea water.  England watched him for a moment before rushing to the kitchen, filling a pot with hot water and lighting the gas stove. Soup would do a cold person good. Leaving the water to heat, he fetched a towel from the bathroom for America’s hair and entered the bedroom. 

 

America sat on the edge of the bed, undressed to his underwear. He was looking at the wall, glancing up at England when he came in front of him. “You’re wearing your uniform.” He reached up and plucked that the naval jacket.

 

“Well, I am at war,” he murmured, placing the towel over America’s head and rubbed his hair absentmindedly. “You are covered in sea water... let me set the bath for you. The soup should be ready by the time you are done and then you can sleep. Sound good?” 

 

“Okay.” He reached up to take the towel out of England’s hands. England released it, letting it drop to the bed. Instead, he ran his hands through America’s hair, tucking the long strands behind his ears. 

 

“You need a barber,” he murmured. He had forgotten how to breathe when he had been informed America was aboard the ship when the torpedo hit.

 

“I’ve been busy.” Closing his eyes, America leaned forward and rested his forehead against England’s chest.

 

“Come now you need a bath before you catch your death.” England tapped his back before pulling back and heading towards the bathroom. The handles of the faucet squeaked as he prompted the pipes for water. England was aware of the quiet padding of feet behind him as America followed. “All my soaps are there on the shelf. Take your time.”

 

“Thanks.” America reached for his undershirt, pulling the cloth over his head. England stepped back, grabbing the door closed behind him. He needed to make that soup, the water should be boiling by now.

 

America came out of the bathroom some time later, the robe that England had left out for him wrapped around his shoulders. He sat down at the kitchen table. “It smells good,” he said, despite the fact that the pot was smoking and England had needed to throw open the window. 

 

Turning around, England beamed at him, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet and ladling the grey soup into the glassware. How had it turned grey? He didn't put any gray things inside of it, oh well, as long as it tasted good he's supposed. Grabbing a spoon from the drawer, England moved over to the small table and sat the bowl down in front of America. Pulling the chair out, he sat on the other side of the table he sat down and gestured for the other to eat. He had eaten earlier.

 

Absentmindedly, America ate the bowl of soup, not speaking. 

 

“Is it all right?” It was a double loaded question.

 

“The soup is fine,” America said. “The rest isn’t. A u-boat torpedoed a civilian vessel, without letting anyone evacuate. There wasn’t anything that shouldn’t have been there on that ship. Small arms cartridges are not war contraband. It’s illegal to load war material in my ports.” 

 

“Sounds like old times, huh? You have used loopholes before,” England said calmly.

 

“How can you say that about your own ship? Your people? They weren’t smuggling anything, it’s been shipped that way for years.”

 

“This issue isn't about smuggling or not smuggling, Alfred. This is about the fact that Ludwig’s navy knew there was civilians on aboard and brutally murdered over a thousand people, at least one hundred of them being citizens of neutral party yet cared not and sank the ship. This is a moral issue.”

 

“Has there been any statement?”

 

“I suspect there will be.”

 

“There’s a German spy in one of my prisons. He tried blowing up the railroad on my border with Matt. It’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I didn’t think I’d get here this way.”

 

“I know about that. Matthew has been here since January. But now is not the time to discuss this.” England shook his head “You should finish eating and go lie down.” 

 

America nodded, standing up from the table. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but then closed it again. He walked towards the bedroom and pulled back the blankets, crawling beneath them.

 

England watched him for a moment before standing up to wash the dishes. He would wait for America to fall asleep and then head back to the site. Humming quietly, he set to the task at hand. It wouldn't take long. There had been more than one accidental sinking in this war already, was it that? Or malicious? He couldn’t be sure these days.

 

“Arthur, it’s late.”

 

“Yes,” He dried the dishes. “You should turn in.”

 

“Are you going to come?”

 

England paused. “I was thinking of doing some knitting for a bit first. Go ahead and get some sleep.”

 

“You can do that in here. I don’t want to be alone.”

 

“In the dark?” England sighed and closed the cupboard, stepping into the bedroom. If it made the boy go to sleep... Grabbing the other corner of the blanket, England slipped into the sheets next to him.

 

“Mmmm.” America moved closer, wrapping his arm around his waist. “I wanted to know if you were all right. Matt said it ended up being nothing, but Germany tried to bomb you in the spring didn’t he?”

 

“He did a couple of times,” he admitted, turning towards the other naturally. It was nice despite the horrible circumstances to have the other back in his bed.

 

America snuggled close to him. “We can’t let anyone know I was here.”

 

“Why not? You came as a civilian. Not on a military ship.” He frowned, running his hands through America's damp hair as his anger tried to rear its ugly head.

 

“If I was somewhere else would you believe that? It’s going to get twisted. When news of this gets back home, I don’t know what will happen. People are going to be angry.” He pressed his face against England’s shoulder, his glasses pressing against his nose.

 

England hummed. “I honestly don't care at the moment.” 

 

“I thought you were mad at me. You haven’t answered any of my letters.” He moved closer, body pressing up against England’s.

 

“Do not bring that up.” England frowned. “I don't want to fight right now.”

 

“Sure thing,” America shifted, brushing his nose against England’s. 

 

“If you want a kiss you'll need to take your glasses off.” 

 

America unhooked them and leaned over England to drop them on the nightstand. “Better?”

 

“Yes, I didn't fancy getting stabbed,” England murmured, hand sliding through America’s hair and pulling him down for a kiss, sighing softly. This was good, what he had been missing. America met him in the kiss, his hand sliding up England’s back to cup the back of his head. England's desire to leave the bed diminished like a dying candle as America stretched a top him. It was familiar, comfortable. 

 

Over the last several weeks, as friends had come in and out of London for war and vice versa England had been forced to watch the subtle exchanges between France and Canada. And the not-so-subtle moments when France would whisk the younger blond away for a moment of privacy. The two of them had inside jokes, little moments of pure joy that caused jealousy to rise up and England's chest. And more often than not alongside that jealousy, America's face would come to the forefront of his mind despite his dismay. He had missed the younger blond, more so than he would ever admit. But at times like this it seemed impossible to deny, that he had missed the other so desperately, even a blind fool one who was deaf and dumb would be able to realize that England was lying.

 

***

 

At the back of America’s mind there had been a fear that England had closed himself off like he had so long ago, that he would lock away his feelings and never touch him again, at least not until the war was over. As England’s hands slipped under the robe he felt relief. England was still here and he while he seemed a little thin, he was still more or less all right. The war hadn’t drug him down, yet. The last time a ship had sunk out from under him, England had been there. This time, the circumstances were far different, but he couldn’t feel the cold that had seeped into his bones. Not as England’s mouth moved against his own.

 

***

 

England pulled back slowly, reluctance making his movements sluggish. “It’s time for sleep,” he was still angry with the other. And America was right, this would not be a good thing if other nations were to find out that the blue-eyed blond had come to see him. Regardless of how the situation had turned about. Despite everything, America was still not his ally in this war. While he was neutral, he still had rejected England's plea for aid and although it was the American government to it come to that decision, England still harboured hurt.

 

“Stay with me.” His eyes pleaded with England.

 

“I'll stay,” he murmured, leaning up to steal one more kiss from the other. This was as far as he could go. America looked down at him for a moment and then settled against him, resting his head on England’s chest.

 

England snorted. “Laying on top of me so I can't get up?”

 

Chuckling in response, America said, “I know you too well.”

 

“I haven't even got out of my clothes.” He frowned “My uniform is going to wrinkle.”

 

“I’ll let you change, but only if you promise me you’ll come right back.”

 

“Dine. Fine” He scowled. “Now get off me you big lump.”

 

America sneaked another kiss, but then climbed off him. The robe had loosened around his neck and he pulled it closed, shivering a little, despite the warmth in the room.

 

Fingers quickly working at the buttons of his uniform, England went over to the closet and grabbed a hanger. Piece by piece, smoothing out wrinkles and matching up seams went into the wardrobe. He answered the impatient sigh from the bed with a scowl. Closing the door, he made his way back over to the bed, grabbing a nightshirt and shrugging into it. He didn't trust himself. Climbing back into the bed, he jabbed the other to move over. “There, happy?”

 

America resumed his prior hold around England’s middle. “Very.”

 

England snorted, but turned on his side to curl into the other “Go to sleep, Alfred.”

 

America settled against him, closing his eyes. “I’ll try.”

 

England ran his fingers through his hair, humming quietly like he used to when America was much younger. “It’ll be fine.”

 

“No, he’s going to have to apologize to me.”

 

“He needs to apologize to many. But you think you'll get that out of him in war time?”

 

“He was already losing sympathy among my people that were inclined to agree with him... this is something else. The President told the Kaiser and  _ I  _ told Ludwig we wouldn’t tolerate unrestricted submarine warfare. His captain broke international law today.” America paused. “He thinks I’m too weak to do anything about it doesn’t he?” 

 

“It’s possible... Alfred...”

 

“Everyone always underestimates me.”

 

“Use that to your advantage.”

 

America snuggled closer to England. “We’ll have to see what Congress does. I’m mad.”

 

“I know,” he murmured. America’s breath began to slow, the exhaustion finally catching up with him as he fell asleep.

 

***

 

It was lips moving down his neck that pulled Arthur from his slumber. He hummed in acknowledgement and tried to pull away, muttering when he was stopped. “Who knows when we’ll be alone again?” America whispered.

 

“Hmmm. Alfred, I'm tired.”

 

“Is that no, or a request that I do all the work?” America nuzzled the back of his neck.

 

“It’s a no,” he said quietly .

 

America loosened his hold. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yes.” He nodded. America scooted back, shifting so that he could see England’s face.

 

“You’re worrying.”

 

“No. I'm not”

 

America sighed and leaned back, stretching his arms above his head. “You don’t have to tell me.” He was quiet for a few minutes. “I’m happy you came to get me.”

 

“Of course. I couldn't leave you there.”

 

“Things are going to change, Arthur.”

 

“Are you finally realizing this?”

 

“I guess so.” America rolled over, resting on one arm. 

 

“How long are you going to be here? I mean things have most certainly changed since... well...”

 

“I should probably go back soon... hopefully the boat back won’t get blasted out of the water. This visit wasn’t exactly official.”

 

England pinched his nose with a sigh. “This is ridiculous.” 

 

“What?” America tilted his head in question. “What’s ridiculous?”

 

“This whole situation.”

 

America scooted closer to him, cupping England’s cheeks. “It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me either. There’s been nothing like this before.”

 

“I wouldn't say that.”

 

“Wouldn’t say what?”

 

“That nothing like this hasn't happened before”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Paat wars were larger than this at the moment.”

 

“It feels different though. Like it’s not gonna just end. The biggest war I’ve been in was a long time ago and I was just fighting with Matt really... you and France were fighting over here. It just... and this...” He reached down and picked up England’s hand. “This feels different too.”

 

England took a deep breath. “Yes.”

 

America slid his fingers in between England’s. “I better not lose you.”

 

England looked at him for a moment. “The UK won't fall.”

 

“I know, but I’m afraid you’ll change. Everyone’s changing.”

 

“I probably will.”

 

America looked at him for a moment, then lowered his eyes. “Will things still be like this if we change?”

 

“I don't know, Alfred,” he admitted.

 

America pressed his face against England’s neck. “I’ll ask again... when it’s all over.”

 

England rested his hand on the back of America's head. “One more.”

 

“One more?”

 

England touched his cheek and pulled him into a kiss softly. America kissed him back, it felt disconcertingly like a goodbye. Tangling his hands into America's hair, he deepened the kiss with a sigh, foot running down the length of the taller man's calf as he stretched out of his curled position. America stretched into his touch, letting England’s leg wrap around his own. His hands slid down England’s back, hitching up the nightshirt so he could touch his skin.

 

England groaned quietly as the other pressed to him, tongue running along his bottom lip. His thoughts muddled in his mind, running his hands over the skin of America's back, feeling the muscles twitch from his touch. America shifted one arm, freeing it from the robe. He pressed against England until he was above him, pushing his nightshirt higher so his mouth could leave a trail of kisses down the center of England’s chest.  

 

“Alfred…” he murmured, head dropping back to breath, shuddering as teeth found his pulse. Part of him willed himself to give in while another part put his foot down.

 

“Hmmm?” America said, his hands sliding down England’s sides.

 

“We cannot.”

 

America paused, leaning on England’s chest. He looked up at him. “You’re leaving aren’t you?”

 

“The house? Not yet, I am however going to put the kettle on.”

 

America shook his head, resignation crossing his face. “If you must.”

 

“Yes, I must.” He rolled away quickly from the other. He needed to get up before things escalated. That would be a fight in itself if America began to try and start things himself. America watched him sitting up on the edge of the bed, pulling the robe closed again. 

 

He followed England into the kitchen.

 

“You are lucky, I actually have coffee on hand,” England murmured, moving over to the tap to fill the kettle. He willed it to distract him from what he really wanted.

 

“It’s not covered in dust is it?” America teased, taking a seat at the table. 

 

“I bought it less than two weeks ago,” England snapped, shooting him a glare. “Maybe I’ll just make you tea.”

 

America made a face. “You wouldn’t. And I was just wondering... and I guess... I’m just surprised. You aren’t bringing someone else here who drinks coffee right?”

 

“Yes, I have. What of it?” He put the kettle on, grabbing cups and a press before reaching for the tea and coffee grounds.

 

“Like who?” 

 

“Does it matter?”

 

America stared at him, brow furrowing. “I just want to know.”

 

England paused, brow arched as he looked over his shoulder. “Why, are you going to be jealous?”

 

“When have I ever been jealous?” America gave him an incredulous look.

 

England snorted. “I had to apologize to Vicente’s diplomats.” 

 

“That was a long time ago.” 

 

“And he has never let me forget it,” he said dryly, measuring out the coffee grounds.

 

“Okay, so it’s not him. Is it just Matt? He sent me a letter.”

 

England heaved a sigh. “Yes, if you must know. Matthew and Francis had a bit of a falling out. So rather than spending his nights with the Frog, Matthew has come to me.”

 

“He’s spending his nights here?” America stared at England, confusion on his face. “In  _ this  _ house?”

 

“Well, yes.” England nodded, clicking off the stove as kettle began to whistle. “We spend a fair amount of time together. He has been to several of my personal homes, especially as of late.”

 

“Yeah, I heard all about how he’s been on the front lines with you.” America sat back in his seat, arms crossed.

 

“Of course he is, he’s one of my oldest Dominions.” He filled the press and the teapot in turn. “He is a rather more accommodating tent mate than the other captains.”

 

“Matt wouldn’t.”

 

England frowned, turning to bring the coffee and tea to the table “Share my tent? He has been. You can ask him yourself if you come back to London with me. He returned earlier.”

 

“Yeah, that’s not happening. I can’t believe him.” America huffed. “After all the fuss he made over Francis...”

 

“Well, maybe he finally realized.” England shrugged, grabbing the cups and the creamer before sitting down. America glared at him across the table.

 

“Realized what, exactly?” America said, pulling the sugar bowl towards him and ladling several large spoonfuls into his coffee.

 

“That there are others out there better than Francis.”

 

“And what? The better one is you? He goes from crying on your shoulder one minute to being your...” America turned bright red. “Is that why you won’t sleep with me?”

 

England tensed. “What does Matthew have to do with that?”

 

“Did you get hit in the head with a shell? Are you sleeping with Matt or not? ‘Cause it sure sounds like you are.”

 

“Excuse me!” England snapped, disgust crossing his features. “How dare you! Imply something about Matthew and I like that!”

 

“Well, if you aren’t sleeping with my brother, then why won’t you sleep with me? You aren’t with Francis again?”

 

England's face turned red with anger. “How dare you! How dare you even suggest that I would do such a thing to Matthew! Do not let your pettiness get in the way of your judgement, Alfred Jones. I cannot believe you!” England shoved away from the table to his feet.

 

“Believe me, the idea doesn’t exactly sit well with me either.” America pushed out of his own chair. “You’ve been pulling away from me ever since this war started. Hell, even before it started. I was on a ship yesterday that was sunk by a German torpedo and you can barely touch me for two seconds!”

 

“So, I am supposed to sleep with you because of that!?”

 

“No, but... everything was fine and then some Austrian noble gets killed and everything went to hell! I don’t understand.”

 

“It's war it's not supposed to make sense. You've started one you should know that!”

 

America stared at England like he’d grown a second head. “That’s not fair to say and you know it. That was a completely different situation.”

 

“You cannot play naive colony anymore, Alfred! It is completely fair to say because it is the truth! You are a nation now so act like one! You cannot hide behind me anymore! No, I won't touch you. And if this war is another hundred years war then it will be a fairly long time for I will not lay with someone who is not my ally during a war!”

 

Blue eyes flashed. “I didn’t realize you thought I’m weak, too. I do  _ not  _ hide behind you.”

 

“Then show me! You think you cannot support me or come to my aid, but come for a quick fuck and everything will be fine?!”

 

“This war has nothing to do with me! And I wasn’t here for quick fuck. I was coming to talk to you about the German spy I apprehended, to warn  _ you.  _ Then  _ my  _ people were killed just trying to travel to London. There were Americans on the  _ Lusitania,  _ Arthur! They were killed because of  _ your _ fight!” America slammed his hand down on the table. “And your attitude makes it really hard for any of my people to support yours! Don’t you get that?”

 

“It is not my war! It is the world's war! I didn't attack with the fucking ship German submarines did I? If you don't want casualties then close your fucking borders!”

 

“If I did that you wouldn’t have any supplies!”

 

“I would manage!”

 

“Arthur, you haven’t been without what I can sell to you since before my independence! Even when we were fighting we were still trading! You would not manage!”

 

“Ia that a challenge!?”

 

“No! Because we’re not enemies! Arthur...” America stepped forward, trying to take England’s arm.

 

England stiffened. “What?!”

 

Hooking his fingers around England’s arm, America pulled him closer. “We’re not enemies. You don’t have to push me away.”

 

“You are not my ally either.” 

 

“I don’t want to be in a war.”  America looked at him, searching England’s face. “ _ Alfred  _ is on your side, but as America, I can’t be. Not right now.”

 

“And because of that neither Arthur or England will be having relations with you for the foreseeable future.”

 

America’s hand dropped from England’s arm and he stepped away, shaking his head. He walked back into the bedroom and began picking up the clothes that were still stiff from sea water. He pulled them on piece by piece. He flung the robe onto the bed and came back into the kitchen, brushing past England on his way to the door. He paused, his hand on the door knob. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. When you’re done doing what’s politically expedient, you know where I am.” He wrenched open the door and pulled it shut so hard behind him that the windows rattled.

 

“I taught you better than slamming doors!” England shouted after him, face red with anger. Whirling around he stormed towards the bedroom. That hurt. That hurt far more than it should. And he was loathed to admit but his mind was unwilling to let him ignore it. 

 

He already missed the other.


	4. A Crack in the Foundation

_ July 28, 1915 _

_ Haiti _

 

America plucked at his undershirt. It was hot, but he’d promised the president he’d go with the invasion to try and talk to Haiti. The Marines had faced little resistance and while no one seemed particularly happy with the situation, things were proceeding the way the President had planned. 

 

“You’re done over here, Ludwig,” America whispered under his breath as the activity went around him. “This is  _ my  _ hemisphere.” 

 

They’d been rivals in the banking industry for years, but as their countrymen in Europe kept sinking his ships on the Atlantic, no reason to let them continue their work on this side. With the removal of German interests from the Caribbean, he might be able to help from afar. He may not be in the war, but he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity.

 

***

 

_ September 27, 1915  _

_ Loos, France _

 

England felt as if he would never get the dirt completely out of his hair or off his skin. Sticky and hot was the air that filled his lungs as they moved underground. Like the walls of the earth was closing around him as they moved to plant the mines. Just several days ago he had trudged out under no man's land with the Royal Engineer company. This was the third time they had been used to tunnel and plant mines under the German front line parapets. He had been so impressed with their work on the Royal Albert Hall, but now their talents were being used for something quite different. “To think that this artistic genius would be used on war,” he murmured.

 

“What artistic genius?”

 

England looked up from the overturned box he was sitting on to see India, although formally called the British Raj, standing over him. He was a young man, dark hair combed back and his tilaka was vibrant against his forehead. He came bearing two cups of tea, handing one to him. 

 

“Thank you Arjun.” He took the cup with a sigh of relief as the other grabbed a box and sat down across from him. 

 

“I never thought I would be out here battling on Francis’s land fighting.” 

 

“The world certainly works in mysterious ways.” He sighed as the noise of the camp escalated. He had woken before the sun, giving small nods to the ones who were on the swing shift. He never did sleep well in battle. They were going to be on the move soon. England ran his hands through his hair in frustration, they had failed in cutting the german wire to try and advance their attack at first. There had been a brief respite, as if they had gained the upper hand as they had been able to surge their way through the weaker German defense and take back Loos-Gohelle yet that was the only success they had seen. It seemed as if someone had cursed his armies that day for supply and communications began to slow their advance and it had taken until the afternoon that the reserves finally came forward on the twenty-fifth.

 

And it had only gotten worse from there, England could still feel the sting in his eyes. Even before they had begun the attack they had released one hundred and forty tons of chlorine gas. It was tactic they had been hesitant about using up until this point, but they had finally come to the decision it was time. However, it seemed they needed to focus on other things, like their gas masks. Many of his soldiers had been forced to remove them since the goggles fogged and it was extremely difficult to breathe with them on. And as his luck would have it, the wind changed course and blew it right back into his troops. 

 

Rolling the tea around in the cup he took a long drink, raising his brows at Arjun who was watching him with an odd look. “What?”

 

“Are you really going up there?” He gestured towards the orange and pink colored sky above them. 

 

“To fly with the pilots, of course.” England finished the rest of his cup. “I’ve been doing a fair amount of their training. I have taken to the waters with the navy, ridden with cavalry, and traveled with the foot soldiers and the cycle infantry, now it is time for me to fly with the pilots.” He got to his feet as he noticed one of the flight captains walking by with his helmet under their arm. He wasn’t even in uniform yet. “I shall see you after the battle.” He nodded.  

 

***

 

Cold. Thin air. Shuddering. Even the plane around him seemed to be protesting as he directed her higher.  The poison gas was a disaster, but here he was about to make history. His eyes flicked over to the other planes, the first, second and third wings being lead by Colonels E. B. Ashmore, John Salmond and Sefton Brancker, respectively. They were about to lead a tactical bombing operation, the first ever in history. 

 

England watched as his breath formed in front of him, fingers flexing in their stiff leather gloves as if it would bring back the blood flow. It was so cold up here. That was something else they needed to work on, warming things up. Either insulating the cockpits or better uniforms, the fact that he was becoming too cold to move and yet he was being tasked just like all of the other pilots, they were about to drop one hundred pound bomb in the German troops and all of their offenses in the battle. England's fingers tightened as his radio crackled.

 

“Kirkland?” 

 

“YesStanson,?” he recognized the man’s voice even over the static, all the way from the ground. 

 

“After you drop we need one more man to fly low and gather information on troop units to send back” It was barely discernible. 

 

“Yes” he nodded although no one would see it, dropping his left wing to follow the flock. This was going to be trying. But they needed this battle. 

 

***

 

_ Transmitted October 1 London, England to Washington D.C. _

 

I wanted to get you the news as  **Stop**

 

soon as possible although you have probably already  **Stop**

 

heard. But yes the British troops were defeated  **Stop**

 

by the German forces.  We lost about sixty  **Stop**

 

thousand men. Arthur has been feeling sick, that  **Stop**

 

is why he hasn’t contacted you. That or  **Stop**

 

stubborn. But he is fine don’t worry,  **Stop**

 

I have it handled. Matthew  **Stop**

 

***

 

_ Transmitted October 15 from San Francisco, California to London, England via New York City _

 

Between the hurricanes  **Stop**

 

And the earthquakes  **Stop**

 

Not to mention the volcanic  **Stop**

 

eruption in Lassen, I’m not doing  **Stop**

 

so well myself. Tell Arthur  **Stop**

 

I’ll do what I can. Alfred.  **Stop**

 

***

 

_ January 1916 _

_ Washington D.C. _

 

The coffee was bitter and America wasn’t sure if that was due to the actual drink itself or the editorials in the newspaper. Stuffed between articles about what was going on in Europe were a multitude of opinions about why the United States should not become involved in the war. 

 

_ Not our fight. _

_ Why should we risk our young men for something between the nations of Europe? _

_ Leave the old nations to their fights. _

_ We won’t die for them. _

_ We shouldn’t choose sides. _

 

It went on and on. The Progressives had an abhorrence of war and America could understand. On the other hand, he could hear the other voices as well. Those that called for allies and that they shouldn’t just think of themselves. That was President Wilson’s position. He thought it was their duty to help.

 

America wasn’t sure who was right.

 

All he knew is that he was worried about England.

 

***

 

_ March 10, 1916 _

_ Border between the state of New Mexico and Mexico _

 

“Alejandro, what the hell?” America said, pulling off his flight helmet, he stalked across the makeshift airfield. Mexico had his arms crossed, eyes narrowed in his direction. He looked frayed, his clothes singed in several places and dark circles under his eyes. The civil war was taking its toll.

 

“I believe I should be asking you that. You’ve invaded me.”

 

“You invaded me first! Pancho Villa came across my border and attacked Columbus!”

 

“That’s funny, I don’t remember accusing you of actions beyond your control when you were of two minds about things during your civil war.” Mexico kicked a pebble with his shoe. “He wanted supplies for his fight down here.”

 

“Well, I’m going to do what I have to do.”

 

“You really think I want to fight with you on top of everything else?!” 

 

“No, I don’t, so I expect you to stay out of my way.”

 

“There’s no point in me offering any sort of promise since you won’t believe me anyway.”

 

“Well, it seems to change every time someone gets deposed.”

 

“Just take your army back to the border and the we won’t have a problem.”

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

“Shouldn’t you be more concerned about the Europeans? They are making a mess of everything.”

 

“Let me worry about that.” 

 

Mexico sighed, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Clearly we are going to get nowhere right now.”

 

“We agree on that at least.”

 

“See you around, Alfred. I really don’t want to have to shoot you the next time I see you.” Mexico tipped the brim of his hat and turned away.

 

“If anyone’s gonna be doing the shooting it’ll be me.”

 

“Probably.” 

 

America turned on his heel, huffing back to his plane to take news back to Washington. He had to keep this quiet. Germany was sore at him and who knew what he would try and cook up in regards to problems in North America.

 

***

 

_ April 6, 1916 _

_ London, England _

It was like someone had jumped on his stomach, like Alfred would do on Christmas mornings when he was a colony. Ripping him from his sleep. Scrabbling at the blankets twisted about his legs, England inhaled sharply he shot up. Something had happened. 

_ “Immediately the dirigible appeared over the town the searchlights had no difficulty in locating it and anti-aircraft guns were speedily in action. Heavy fire was directed on the Zeppelin and the aim appeared to be very good on the part of the gunners.”  _

England dropped  _ The Times  _ onto his empty plate after reading the brief description in the paper. There was little to nothing in the paper, much less than had been delivered to him via personal lines on the telegraph. Like the little boy that had been killed in his bed, sleeping, when the zeppelin had dropped the bomb. 

_ “One little boy killed in bed by an incendiary bomb was the sole satisfaction that these miserable night warriors achieved as the result of at least 40 attempts upon a purely civilian population, mostly in bed at the time. It is true that they did a certain amount of material damage but not much considering the immense power of the explosives used.  One would hardly think it possible that such a rain of destruction could do so little harm. Great gaping holes in the land, broken windows, roofs partially unslated, doors and in some case furniture damaged was really a small price to pay as the result of such a visitation…But the prevailing feeling is one of thankfulness.” _

He wasn’t even able to eat that morning, tea was all he feared he could keep down. Elbows propping up on the table to hold his head. It was like having the stomach flu. These bombings had been going on for over a year now all over Europe. On and off like the Germans weren't sure that they were going to commit to such war tactics and it took them until January first. The Kaiser had authorized to completely bombard him. However the man seemed to have some consciousness for British intelligence had informed him that the Kaiser had specifically laid the groundwork and restrictions that prohibited civilian areas from being targeted as bombing sites. He was cousins with the King of England, perhaps it was familial. England rubbed at his temples in concern. He wondered how long this act of humanity would last. He feared that it wouldn’t last very long. 

_ *** _

_ May 31, 1916 _

_ London, England  _

“Everyone take shelter! To the tube stations! Your basements!” England’s voice was lost amongst the screaming of families trying to find each other as they slammed into neighbors and strangers. Police rode bikes, whistles shrill in the air as they tried their best to direct traffic. London had just been settling into sleep when the door to England’s chamber slammed open, Henry in the door breathing hard with the news that a zeppelin had been seen approaching London.  Even from here down in the streets of london smothered in fog and panic England could see the massive aircraft looming over them. Reports had measured it at six hundred and fifty feet in length. It was like the belly of a great beast was being opened. England was vaguely aware of the hands on his elbows yanking him back, down the tube station stairs. He couldn’t take his eyes from the sky as objects dropped from the belly of the zeppelin. When was this going to stop?

The stairs beneath his feet shifted as a roar rushed through the streets, glass shattering, the screams of people silent for the briefest of moments as this new weapon of war obliterated cobblestone and foundation. Wind ripping through the street as it dove after them the crowds in the tunnel, dirt and glass cutting at his face and hands as he shielded his eyes.

He was being bombed again. 

_ *** _

_ June 4, 1916 _

_ Battle of Verdun _

_ Douaumont, France _

“Arthur, you do not need to check in on your soldiers, they are more than happy to be serving with my army,” France said, crossing his arms over the drab uniform that didn’t do him any favors. The airstrip was empty, the pilots visible in the distance returning from a mission.

“Do I really need any more of an excuse to punch you this earlier in the morning, Frog?” England scoffed, glaring at the adjacent blond. 

France smiled at him and took a few steps closer. “To think, I’d forgotten what a delight you are in the morning.” The sound of the plane engines could be heard in the distance, coming closer. “We should probably move off the runway,  _ mon ami,  _ so that my dear pilots can come in for a safe landing. To think that we would ever be fighting from the air.” He put a hand on England’s shoulder and began propelling him back towards the buildings.

“Hands off, Frog!” England snapped, swatting at the others hands. It was bad enough he had to be up early, even worse that he had to be in France when it happened. 

“Come, I’m sure we can uncover some tea for you.” France glanced over his shoulder at the incoming squadron.

England snorted. “Or what passes as tea. But I appreciate the gesture”

“Excellent,” France replied, any other words drowned out by the engines of the planes as they began landing on the airstrip. The propellers sent a whoosh of air towards them, catching their hair and clothes. They were nearly inside when the engines began to sputter out as their pilots shut them down.

The noise of technicians and other personnel started, drowning out anyone approaching. Suddenly, a familiar voice called out, “Francis, you’re never going to believe...” England felt the muscles in his shoulder tense as he recognized the voice. Whirling around, green eyes widened in shock before narrowing in anger. America stared at him, shock across his face. England took in his clothes and realized immediately that he was wearing a  _ French  _ airman’s uniform. “Arthur...”

France looked from one to the other. “I suppose I should leave you two...”

“You traitor….” England breathed.

“ _ Moi?  _ No, no, Alfred was only checking in on some of his people.” England shot France a glare and France raised his hands. “I’ll leave you two to it.” France retreated quickly indoors. 

America stuffed his hands into the pockets of his flight jacket. “He’s telling the truth. Some of my people that were living in Paris formed the  _ Escadrille Americaine,  _ though they’re changing the name since Germany was getting on my case about it. It’s the Lafayette Squadron now. I imagine you remember that name.”

“How long?”

“How long?” America adjusted his flight goggles onto his forehead and pulled his glasses out of his pocket and put them on. “Uh... I guess I’ve been here for about three weeks? I heard about the squadron a little longer ago than that and I wanted to come see it.”

“Three weeks... you've been Europe three weeks...”

“I figured you wouldn’t want to see me. I’m not here officially. I wouldn’t exactly choose this outfit.” He plucked at the French uniform.

“I don't know why I'm surprised.” England shook his head. 

“What’s that mean?”

“That we aren't speaking and I find you here with Francis.”

“He was my first ally, Francis and I have a thing,” America replied. Silence stretched for a moment. “I’m hungry, I’m going inside.”

England didn't bother with a response, instead turning and headed the direction that France had gone. He would settle for every sub par tea at the moment. Anything to get out of here. His hands clenched when he heard footsteps behind him. “Don’t follow me.”

“It’s not following if we just happen to be going in the same direction.”

England scowled, crossing his arms as he looked around the hall, glancing in doorways to look for France. He had no clue where he was going. Catching England by the elbow, America pulled him along. “He was getting you tea, right? The mess is this way.”

“Don’t man handle me!”

Releasing him immediately with a frown, America said. “Fine, but it’s still this way.”

“I don't want to go anywhere with you,” he snapped. He was tired and everything hurt, had been hurting since January, since Germany had started bombing him. Was still bombing him. It pissed him off that he had to be here to discuss battle plans when he should be home, although there was nothing he could do.

“Don’t be stupid. You came to talk to Francis, right? I’ll leave if you’re gonna be stubborn.”

“I can wait.” England sniffed.

America gave him a look and sighed. “I’ll go get him.” He turned to walk away.

“Don’t bother.”

America stopped, frustration crossing his features. He walked back toward England and wrapped his fingers around his upper arm and began pulling him toward one of the parts sheds on the side of the airfield.

“Alfred, that hurts!”

Pulling him inside, America released him. “Just yell at me. Get it out so we can stop being like this. Hurt me back. Something!”

England scowled. “What are you talking about?”

“If you’re gonna be angry with me, do it. Let it out. I’m trying to be nice here.”

“We have already had this discussion.”

“And what happens if I become your ally? You’re gonna continue treating me like this? This whole thing is making people talk back home.”

“Alfred, I cannot deal with this right now.” He sighed and sat down on an overturned crate. 

America crouched down, looking up at him. “Tell me to go and I’ll go.”

Rubbing at his temples, England stared down at him. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” America dropped onto one knee, he rested his hands on his leg, holding onto his fingers as though he didn’t trust his hands.

“I can't deal with anything else right now, Alfred.  I've got too much going on.”

“ Lean on me. I’m here.” America hesitated. “I heard about the bombings. You have no idea how badly I wanted to go to you... but my boss ordered me off. I... I was hoping I’d find you with France and I thought if I waited... well, that I’d find you and could ask.”

England shook his head. “I told you...” He rubbed at his shoulder. “I need to... it’ll pass once the bombing stops.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Go stab yourself and find out.”

America gave him a half-smile and climbed up off the ground and sat down on the crate beside England. “I’ve fought with him now, you know. He’s annoyed that I’m interrupting his business interests in the Caribbean.” 

“So much for being neutral.”

“Technically, I haven’t broken the rules. Down there it was protecting my stuff... and this, well, it’s not affiliated with my government.”

England grunted, rubbing at his hip in irritation. 

“Come here.” America wrapped an arm around England’s waist, replacing England’s fingers with his own to rub gently at the sore spot.

England hissed in pain, body tensing to knock the other away. He wanted to. He didn't want to. “Fuck you,” he growled as he leaned into the other, hiding his face in the crook of America's neck, body relaxing. Just this little moment. He deserved this. He could be angry again in a minute.

America hummed a soft song that England didn’t recognize, although he did catch the tune as one that was growing popular in dance halls. America gathered him closer, letting England lean on him.

“I'm still angry with you,” England murmured, posture suffering as he slumped into the other.

“I know,” America said, pressing his nose into the top of England’s hair. England pressed his face against the flight uniform. America didn’t smell like himself, more like airplane fuel and gunpowder.

“You need a bath,” he muttered. 

“Probably, it gets dusty up there.”

“Of course.” He sighed. America’s hand began rubbing circles in the small of England’s back.

“I could get cleaned up and meet you somewhere. I’ll be leaving in another week to deal with some other developments.”

“Alfred... no.” England pulled back onto his crate. Shaking his head at the other. “We’ve discussed this.”

“I didn’t mean like that. We could eat or something.” America let his hands fall to the edge of the crate where he gripped the wood. “But I miss you.”

“I'm not really hungry.” England shook his head, warring with himself. 

“Or we could read... anything.” America looked up at him, giving him a small smile. “At any rate, I better go before Francis thinks we’re canoodling in here and neither of us will hear the end of it.”

England hesitated. “You can... bring your tray to my room... I brought a bottle of bourbon.”

America looked at him. “Good choice for a drink.” He stood up and pushed his hands in his pockets. “I’ll see you in a little while then?”

England nodded, making no move to get up. He needed a moment, his ribs had been sore all morning and pushing himself to his feet sounded like an awful ordeal. America hesitated for a moment and then turned and walked out of the door.

***

England had changed out of his uniform and into a oversized night shirt and loose trousers, before stretching out in his bed. “It’s open,” he called as he heard a knock at the door.

“I thought Francis was never gonna stop talking. I mean I was the first one to get the planes working... but I don’t know what he’s done with his engine,” said America, backing into the room with a mess tray in his hand. It was piled high with food. The room was small, utilitarian. He found a spot on a spindly chair in one corner and settled the tray on his knees. He had changed into something more casual, a button down shirt and trousers. The clothes made him look just like he’d walked off a farm.

“He is an idiot so who knows,” he yawned.

“I told him I’d look at it tomorrow.” America reached down to unlace his boots. Shoes off he stretched out his legs in the narrow room, feet landing on the bed.

“Matthew is here.”

“Matt’s probably working on something else. He helped my escape.”

England snorted. “That's one word for it.”

America wrinkled his nose. “I try not to think too hard about it.”

England chuckled and rolled onto his side “I would feel bad for you, but I don't.”

“Then again, you have personal experience of the things Matt tells me when he drinks too much.” America slouched in his seat and examined a green vegetable on the end of his fork.

England's nose wrinkled. “I'm not sure I want to know.”

“You don’t.” America chuckled. He glanced up at England over the top of his glasses. “Are you feeling better?”

“A bit, yes.”

“Do you want any of this?” America asked, pointing at his plate with his fork.

“No, thank you.” He shuddered. “Awful stuff.”

America shrugged and reached around to his back pocket to pull out a tattered paperback. “Brought you something. I don’t know if you’ve read this one yet.” He tossed it, the book landing on the bed near England, the title read  _ Tarzan of the Apes.  _ “You probably did since you like these kinds of stories and it came out a few years ago, but I thought I’d share it anyway.”

“Don't throw books, Alfred,” he said crossly  “And no... I haven't.” He picked it up, examining it.

“It’s a good adventure. And Baum wrote another book set in Oz. When I can, I’ll send it to you. I know you like that one.” America smiled at him.

“If you say so.” He leaned back and opened to the first page.

They sat in silence while America finished his food, and England got started on the book. The tray clattered when America leaned over to set it on the floor. He slumped further back in his seat, yawning with a stretch.

“Don't sleep there you will get a crick in your neck.”

“Just resting my eyes. I should probably get some work done.”

“Don’t work on a flying contraption when you are tired, Alfred.” 

“It’s nothing I haven’t done before. Besides, if I go back to my lodging right now I might walk in on something I want to pretend I have no knowledge of.” America gave him a lopsided smile.

“Or you could stay.”

“You were just admonishing me for trying to sleep here.”

“For sleeping on the chair.”

America watched him for a moment, one foot slipping off the bed onto the floor. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “You want me to sleep in your bed?” 

“I'm being a gentleman, offering.”

“Here I was trying to be the gentleman by being over here.” The other foot dropped off the bed. “You should move over if you want me in there.”

England rolled over with a scowl. America stood up from his seat and there was a rustle as he pulled items out of his pockets before the bed dipped with his weight. He lay down, resting on his stomach, head turned away.

America was always a little radiator. Rolling onto his side towards the other, England pressed against him with a sigh. He would regret this later, but not now. America shifted, lifting an arm so England could fit better against his side. Getting more comfortable, America turned his head back towards him, breath ruffling England’s hair as he breathed.

“At least you washed up,” he murmured quietly. 

“As much as I love machines, it’s nicer to not wake up smelling like one,” America chuckled. Absentmindedly, America’s hand settled at the small of England’s back, rubbing circles through the fabric of his shirt.

England hummed in appreciation. “I prefer you to smell like this,” he said quietly.

“Good,” America said, body relaxing against England’s. 

“Alfred... sleep.” Nodding, America yawned again and closed his eyes. He must have been more tired than he let on, because he was asleep within only a few minutes, breaths evening out, face smoothing into uncomplicated dreams.

“Little brat, always complaint about naps...” he murmured, eyes sliding shut and falling asleep next to him.

***

For a moment, America didn’t know where he was. It was dark and he wasn’t alone. Not to mention that the person beside him was mumbling something in his sleep. 

Right, he’d fallen asleep in England’s quarters. He reached for the table, where he’d left his pocket watch, discovering that it was nearly midnight. The light drifted in through the window and he could see England’s face. His brows were pulled together. Gently, America touched his cheek, trying to soothe whatever nightmare was interrupting England’s sleep.

England jerked awake, arms flying up to cover his head in panic.  “No!”

America caught his hands, holding them. “Arthur, it’s okay. It’s not real.”

England shoved away from him, eyes wide and pupils blown. “Don’t!”

“Arthur, wake up, it’s me.” He took a blow to the center of his chest and winced. “Arthur, I’m here. You’re not under attack.”

Elbows locking England stared at him, realization dawning in his eyes. “Alfred…”

“Shhh, I’m here.” He touched England’s face gently. “You can tell me.”

“You can't be here!”

Confusion shot through America, was England still dreaming? He moved away when England shoved at him again. “You invited me this afternoon, don’t you remember?”

“You’re supposed to be neutral! If Ludwig finds out you're in my bed he will come after you!” His panic caused his voice to jump an octave. America felt a lump grow in his throat as the emotion rose up in his chest. He reached out slowly, trying to touch England’s arm.

“No one knows I’m here. It’s okay... and if he does come for me, I can fight back. You don’t have to worry.”

England's breath hitched before catching in his throat as America pulled him forward. England's fingers found the back of the younger nation’s shirt, he leaned against America's  shoulder. “Damnit,” he gasped.

“It was just a nightmare.” America held England in his arms, running his fingers through his hair. 

England swore again, tightening his grip on America. “I'll kill him,” he said quietly. America looked down at the top of England’s head and pressed his lips to his hair, trying to think through the emotions that were whirling through his chest. England was genuinely afraid for him, but hadn’t he wanted him in the war at his side? America held England more tightly. He wished he could pluck him right out of his proximity to the rest of Europe and drag the whole country across the Atlantic, but that was impossible. 

“I hate this. The fighting...” America mumbled against England’s hair.

“Why do you think I didn't want you to leave... I could have protected you from this…”

America stiffened at the implication that he needed protection. He could handle himself. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from admonishing England about it. England was scared and probably still half asleep. Stroking his hair, America said, “Arthur, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m halfway across the world from this.”

“No... you’re here.”

“Just for a little while, I needed to check on my people that  _ are  _ here.”

England's fingers tightened, but he said nothing else for a moment. “Go back to sleep.”

“I’m kind of awake now.” America continued to stroke his hair. “You’re shaking.”

“I am just cold.”

“Here.” America shifted so that they could lay back down. He pulled the blanket over on top of them, pulling it up and over their heads. “Remember when I would get scared of the dark and you would hide under the blanket with me and tell me that nothing could get me? We can pretend that’s true for a few minutes.”

“If you need it, then I guess I can indulge you,” England sniffed

America rolled his eyes, but settled against England anyway. He could shoulder it for him. “Make me feel safe, Arthur.”

England scowled and pinched his ear. “Don’t be a prat.” America gave him a silly grin and pulled it over their heads. The light was blocked out and America could no longer see him. It was a little stuffy under the blanket, but it was warmer.

“Better?” America asked.

“I suppose,” he sniffed, nose bumping underneath his jaw. America smiled.

“Well, I feel better, too.” 

“Good,” England murmured, stretching out. 

“No nightmares under here,” America said, snuggling into him, pressing his forehead against England’s.

“No. No nightmares.” He leaned forward, mouth pressing lightly to America's for a brief moment before pulling back. America reached up, brushing the back of his fingers across England’s cheek. It was soft and affectionate, not asking for anything more. England released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding and if possible relaxed further. “Good night.” It came out as a whisper, almost as if anything louder would shatter the illusion.

“Good night.”

***

England hoped that the sound didn’t wake Alfred. There was no proper way to vomit into a bucket with grace. It was the epitome of emptying ones stomach, loud and over the top. His face was hot and he felt filthy, knees sore from digging into the concrete and dripping with sweat. He clutched the bucket tightly as his thoughts of misery were interrupted as he retched again, grunting in pain. 

America’s hand were on England’s back. “What’s going on?” His voice shook with concern.

Clammy fingers clutched the rim of bucket with a groan, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. He shook his head. Between the bombing and the upcoming July sickness that usually started, he wasn’t sure how he was going to fare this year. 

“Are you being attacked?” America leaned over him, as though he could shield him from whatever was happening to him. He leaned his forehead against England’s shoulder. “What can I do?”

“No.” England clutched the edges of the bucket. It was most likely aftershocks and being so close to July. “No.”

“You should drink some water.” America looked around, trying to see if there was anything nearby. He sank down and leaned against the bunk, one hand still smoothing down England’s back. There wasn’t a canteen in sight. America took a deep breath. “Is it me?”

England merely grunted, he didn't want to answer that. He didn't want to lie that it was high possibility. He was still sore and wasn't healing as well. But the last several months of on and off bombing were starting to shake his people's morale. On top of it, at the moment most were strongly against their boys being out in trenches. He needed a swing in morale before July. Desperately.

“I’m going to get you some water. I’ll be right back.” America patted him on the back and began to stand. “I can see if there’s anything around to settle your stomach. It’ll be okay.” 

“Leave it,” he croaked. “Just water...”

“I’ll be right back.” He leaned over and kissed the back of England’s head. Stepping, over him, he pushed the door open. It had grown late, no one could be heard in the hallways.

Scooting down, England pressed his cheek against the cold floor with a sigh of relief. He hated the America was here, but was also glad that he was here. It was conflicting, normal, in regards to the young blond American. More often than not England found himself and such conflicting emotions and thoughts when considering the other. Especially at times like this, and the war had made it even more frequent than before. He wasn't sure how to feel. He scooted a bit onto his back, pleased when the tension and knots in his stomach lessened. Even if he tried to throw up again, he wasn't certain that anything would come up. He hadn't even eaten since breakfast so that was probably what had come up. It was often like having a nasty bout of the stomach flu or food poisoning. Neither pleasant, but at least they had a source that was trackable.

England was surprised that America was capable of sneaking up on him, but when he touched his shoulder, he startled. The water sloshed over the edge of the cup a little, a few droplets hitting his face. “Whoops,” America said.

“Really, Alfred?” he muttered pushing off the floor to sitting and taking the cup eyeing it suspiciously. He was fairly certain if he drank it he would find himself over the bucket once more.

“Just try. Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?” America looked at him as if he could figure out how to heal him just by wanting it enough.

England gave him a look. “I just threw up, you think I want to eat?” He took a sip of water, grimacing. America smoothed England’s hair back from his forehead. 

“Food always makes me feel better... Arthur, can I do anything? I’m asking here.” 

“You can't.”

“You always say that...” America’s brow furrowed. He leaned back against the edge of the bunk, his hair flaring out as it pressed into the thin mattress and the tangled mess of blankets. “There has to be something I can do for Arthur, even if I’m not technically allowed to do anything for England. There’s always something that can be done.”

England sighed,taking another sip before putting the glass down. “Alfred..”

America looked down at the floor, the corner of his mouth quirking up. He’d shoved his glasses on haphazardly and they were crooked on his nose. “I’ve missed just sleeping beside you. Too bad it didn’t keep the painful stuff away.”

“That’s how you can help,” England said quietly, face pale from the pain and sick reddened slightly.

America’s eyes widened, brow furrowing for a moment before looking up at England. He took in the look on his face. He shifted forward, brushing the fingers of his right hand over England’s flushed cheek. He smiled. “I can do that.” He opened his arms, giving England a space to slide into.

“At least that's something,” England muttered, getting to his feet and moving onto the bed with a sigh. He was cold and tired. And America was comfortable and warm.

America drew him into his arms, pressing his lips against England’s brow and then letting England tuck his head beneath his chin. “Things will change, they always do,” America said to the top of his head, arms tightening around him.

“You can say that again,” England grunted, eyes slipping closed with a sigh. He was exhausted but he wasn't ready to go back to sleep yet.

America took a deep breath, pulling the blanket over them both. His body settled against England’s. They bent into each other’s curves, fitting together like puzzle pieces. Adjusting his arm beneath England’s head, America curled his fingers against the back of England’s skull. “I’ve got you tonight, okay?”

“Too bad it wasn't earlier,” he mumbled, cracking an eye open to peer up at him.

“Hmmm?” America muttered, shifting to look down at him. 

“How much longer do you think you can stay uninvolved?”

America was quiet for a minute. “I don’t know. My people are torn. Some of them want to get involved and others are adamantly against it. They don’t think it’s right for us to die when it’s a European problem... but Germany is pushing it. He’s respecting my request for no unrestrained submarine warfare... I don’t know if he’ll keep it though. He’s making his move for power isn’t he?”

“Funny that you think it's a European problem when you trade with Europe. And I am at war and you think my people are for it? Staunchly against it.”

“Congress has to decide.” America rested his forehead against England’s. “Arthur, I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t want to fight another war, but if it comes for me I’ll meet it. I’m ready for it.”

“Nobody wants war.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” America’s fingers stilled their trail through England’s hair. “I think when we end up in them... part of us wanted it. Our people convince us.”

England tilted his head back and pulled him down into a kiss. For a moment, America didn’t move, then he responded with enthusiasm. America kissed him back, pulling him closer, hand sliding down England’s thigh and hooking his fingers behind his knee. England's hand laid on his hand to stop it with a soft shake of his head.

“I guess I got carried away,” he said, breath warm on England’s face. England could feel the heat of him, the want burning just beneath his skin. America took one deep breath and then another, trying to will it away.

England dropped his head on his shoulder with a quiet sigh. “I feel sick.”

America rubbed his back. “It’ll pass. I’ve got you.”

England heaved a sigh, sinking further into his embrace. “Thank you...”

America pressed his lips against England’s hair. “You can sleep. I’ll be here.”

“I'd prefer in the bed," he mumbled. America chuckled, using the hold he had on him to pick him up. He cradled England in his arms for a moment before putting him back on the bed, fixing the blankets before climbing in himself.

“You’re putting yourself between me and the bucket... sure you want to risk that?”

“You won’t be sick again tonight,” America insisted.

“I wish I was so optimistic.” 

“I can be optimistic for both of us.”

England snorted, pressing into America’s side for the warmth that the younger leaked. “If it only worked that way.”

“It works that way right now,” he said, running his hand up and down England’s spine.

England hummed, eyes sliding shut at the sensation. It didn't take long before he succumbed to the exhaustion, his racing mind slurring to a stop. Any comments fading away until one word “Safe...” slipped from his mouth before completely falling asleep.

America continued to hold him, sleep not coming even as England’s breath was slow and comfortable. At dawn, he pressed a kiss to England’s forehead and slipped out of the bed. “I’ll do what I can,” he whispered, closing the door shut behind him.

***

_ June 30,  1916 _

_ Somme River, north-central Somme and south-eastern Pas-de-Calais Départements, France _

“Just like this war, this battle needs to end yesterday.” England scowled, swinging his leg off his horse and dropping to the trampled earth below. The camp was massive, this battle was going to be a massive feat. Adjusting his sleeves he patted the horse’s nose fondly as France dropped down beside him with a little hop as two soldiers ran up to take their horses. He rolled his eyes at the man.  Between the two of them there were 720,000 men in the camp ready to fight the German forces. They would take this battle by storm. 

Flipping his hair over his shoulder, France smiled at the arrayed force. “It is far more delightful to be on the same side than in years past. Now I don’t have to worry about you cutting off my supply lines from the sea. Your dogs of war are useful for keeping Germany and the rest from sniffing out the necessities of war.” He reached down to dust off his sky-blue uniform. It had changed drastically from the start of the war when most of the army had still been outfitted in the bright colors popular in the century before. France frowned at it. “It’s a shame the fashion is going to nothing. What are you even wearing?” France sighed as though England’s appearance were a complete travesty.

“It's called sensibility” ,England snapped, arms crossing over his chest. His troops had began outfitting themself in a green dress uniform for years now, with a cross belt and forage cap to match. “And practicality and a lack of stupidity,” he drawled. Shaking his foot as if to shake dirt from his knee high boots. “I'd rather have my head than look like an overstuffed peacock.”  

“It was only a little bit of singing.” France sniffed. “Besides, if we’re all dressed the same how shall we know who belongs on what side? Speaking of sides, how long are we planning to make this front? I’ve heard you took over my tunnels. Pushy of you, but I suppose you do look better down in the dirt.”

With a finger, England insulted him wordlessly before turning on his heel to make his way to the officers tent. “If it wasn’t for my Royal Engineers you would have lost so many towns already so I suggest you shut up. I have to keep stepping in to make sure you don’t lose our progress. Your losses at Verdun have drastically pulled forces away from the front here and therefore I have been forced to change my offensive multiple times.  Marshal Haig has set the plan to relieve you of the issues at Verdun as well as put a solid hole in the German defenses. Five days of artillery bombardment my fourth line will come in to take the line, and then the third army will mount a diversion. We shall see how it goes from there.”

“I was not aware you were so eager to relieve me of my own offensive.” France sighed. He brushed into the tent behind England, looking around with a slight air of disappointment. He walked over to the map spread out with the blocks to represent positions. He tapped a British piece. “I will take the south while you take the north. Where have you put the colonies?”

“You mean my colonies?” England settled onto one of the stools by the map table. 

France frowned slightly. “Yes,  _ your  _ colonies.”

“Yes, mine.” England arched a brow. “Any one of them in particular? There are a couple of them here.”

“Which do you think?” France said, lifting his chin, daring England to reproach him for the question.

“I gather you are looking forward to seeing little Hope again.” England peered over the map with feigned interest. The irritation rolling off of France was both amusing and tiresome. Heaving a sigh England looked back up at him. “I sent Matthew to take Hope, Jett and Arjun to get their horses and to introduce them to the officer’s on both sides.”

“Even our enemies? How do you know Ludwig won’t take it as an opportunity? He’s become... unrecognizable. He was always a strange boy... but at the rate he’s overtaking even Gilbert... I do not know him anymore.” Concern crossed France’s face and he settled his hands onto a back of a camp chair.

England gave him a look. “Your officers and my officers, idiot.”

“Good, I was worried you’d breathed in too much chlorine gas.” Pulling out the chair, France dropped into it.

England sneered at him. “Although, I have directed Matthew that for the time we are here he shall be sharing my quarters.” 

France raised an eyebrow at him. “You cannot have yours so you will deny me mine. That is just petty,  _ mon ami. _ ” 

“First, not your friend. Second, I have no clue what you are speaking of.” He dragged a cloth over his forehead, it came back soaked. He had woken this morning pale and with the shakes and despite it being early he was more than ready to sleep. 

A smile slid across France’s face. “The depths of your denial never cease to amaze.” 

“I simply require Matthew’s presence.” 

“As do I.” France leaned back in his seat. “Speaking of our dear Mathieu, I thought we could relieve him of his duties briefly to celebrate his birthday. As the battle will begin tomorrow, it is likely best to take care of it today.”

“Surprisingly, I agree with you on something.” England snorted. “I have his gift stowed in my bags. Perhaps after supper?”

“And perhaps I may borrow him afterwards.”   
  


England's nose wrinkled in disgust “You think to sully birthday celebrations with such talk.” 

An amused expression crossed France’s face. “To think I may have been wrong about your situation. It must have been a long time for you indeed if you think talk is necessary for such an arrangement.” 

England bristled. “Watch your tongue, Frog!” 

France chuckled, getting back up from his seat. “So defensive,  _ Angleterre.  _ As fun as it is to watch you turn a shade that your coat used to match, we should probably speak business before we get to pleasure.” He made a sweeping gesture at the map.

“Do you actually work? I wasn’t aware that was something the French did.” A prim female voice came from the entry flap of the tent. Green and blue eyes flicked to the entrance of the tent where a girl who appeared to be a teen in years stood. All legs, a fiery expression and a darkened tone that spoke of her home on the African continent where the Dutch had settled before the British. The personified South African colony. 

“Oh, have me met, my dear?” France said, smiling at her. “Arthur, how long did you intend to hide such a beauty?”

“Don’t even try old man. Marie has told me all about you,” she sniffed. 

“ _ Mon petit  _ Seychelles, she exaggerates.” He waved his hands. He glanced over at England, then turned back to South Africa. “And yes, my darling girl, we French are quite hard working, especially when it comes to beauty.”

“Hope." England got up and gestured for her to take his seat. The girl moved over to sit. 

“You really don’t remember me?” She glanced at France.

“You cannot possibly be the sweet little girl that I met decades ago. I recall you scolding, Alfred.” He smiled at her. “If you have been told all about me,  _ mon fleur,  _ you would know that I know and remember everyone.”

“Yes, that's me," Hope said dryly.

France continued to smile at her. The tent opened again, Canada pulling his cap off his head. He glanced at France and then quickly looked away. “Ah, exactly who I wanted to see. Mathieu, you must save me from this company.”

Offering a guileless look, Canada had just opened his mouth to speak when he was bumped into by a brown-haired teenage boy. “Arthur, you should let me at ‘em. I can do it,” Australia said, bowling over Canada in his quest to get closer to the table.

“Rude!” South Africa scowled as England grabbed Australia before he could ruin the table.

“Jett! Matthew where is Anjur?”

“Right here, Arthur,” said India, walking into the tent. “Francis,” he said, nodding to him. France nodded back.

“It seems the sun never sets,” France said. India wrinkled his nose, but stepped toward the table and looked down at the pieces. 

“Francis don't be rude!” England snipped.

“I’ll leave the Empire to its business,” he said, stepping around the crowd and pausing near Canada’s elbow. He said something to him that England couldn’t hear across the space. A small smile appeared on Canada’s face for a moment. With something whispered in response, France exited. 

“Matt, you’ve gone all red,” Australia observed with a snicker. 

England frowned at the other blond. “Matthew…”

The smile dropped off his face. A nervous expression replacing it, Canada asked, “Yes, Arthur?”

“At least pretend, please,” he said dryly. “Hope please go with Jett and Arjun. It's about supper time.” He gestured for the three to leave and one by one they filed out, knowing by his tone this was not a time to argue.

“I’m sorry,” Canada said, as soon as the other three were gone. “I know you don’t want anyone else to know about my indiscretion...” 

“It’s not that Matthew and you know it, " England snapped, sinking into the chair France had abandoned.

“I’m sorry... I thought that was it... what is it if not that?”

“Just don't make it obvious!” He sighed in exasperation. “Imagine how you would feel if Alfred flaunted about whoever he was sleeping with at the current time.”

“I don’t know if Alfred is the best example...” Canada blushed. “He’s not always good at hiding his feelings... I’ll endeavor to not embarrass you, however. I don’t think Jett knows what he was seeing...”

“If you say so, Matthew.” He sighed and gestured for the stool. “We need to talk.” Canada took the seat, waiting for England to speak again. “I'm going to need you to control Francis for me for a bit.”

Canada tilted his head in question. “Control him? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I don't want him to ruin the hard work that I've put in to this because he wants to shine while I'm unconscious.”

Canada leaned forward. “Is your illness already that bad?”

“Your birthday is tomorrow. That means in a couple of days I'll be out. Although I'm not experiencing things as bad as usual... yet.” His brow furrowed at the thought.

“Maybe it will be different this year?” Canada said, hopefulness in his voice.

“Or it could be the constant state of numbness from the bombing.” England shrugged. “My first fever started this morning. Anyways, I need you to control Francis in my stead. I trust you to do that.”

“I will protect our gains, I promise,” he said. Worry crossed his face. “Are you sure you’ll be all right alone?”

“Always am." He smiled reassuringly.

Canada gave him a small smile back. “I’ll check on you when I can.”

“It’ll only be a day.”

“If nothing goes wrong tomorrow... I’ve never seen so many soldiers on one battlefield before.”

***

_ July 4, 1916 _

_ Dear Alfred, _

_ You need to promise me we’ll be able to celebrate our birthdays together someday. I wish it was peaceful now and we could give it a try. I don’t know if I’ll be able to hear a firework without flinching for a long while. I’m sure word came across the Atlantic by now, but this battle on the Somme is like nothing I have ever seen. I wish I had happier news for you. _

_ I tell you this only in confidence, so please don’t say anything to anyone else. In fact, I can only manage this letter because Arthur is unconscious - and I’m not sure it’s just for the usual reason. On the first day he suffered nearly 60,000 casualties, nearly a third of those killed on the battlefield. I could feel the blow too... though probably not quite as badly. I tried to think if you or I had ever suffered such a loss... I know you have, although it was a long time ago now. It’s wrong for me to say, but I wish you were here. To be on the same side for once. I’m doing my best to hold things together for Arthur and Francis. I’ve been in their battles before, but it was nothing like this. They’re calling it the war to end all wars now. I hope they’re right.  _

_ I hope you’ve settled your differences with Mexico. I dread the thought of this war spreading across to our homes.  _

_ Your brother, _

_ Matthew _

***

_ July 19, 1916 _

_ Sommes; Fromelles  _

“Jett, I need you to realize just how important this is going to be. How much pull your forces are going to have in this battle.” England pointed at the large battle map pinned to the table. The teenage colony rubbed at the bridge of his nose, rocking back and forth on his heels in excitement. This was the first time the Australian Imperial Force would be used on the Western Front and their first time out in such a war. Their debut. England scanned Australia’s face, the eyes flicking back and forth and the bounce vibrating through the entirety of the other’s body. He knew that look, recognized it because he had had it as well. The excitement that one felt before their first battle, before they realized just how terrible war really was. 

“When do we get started!” Jett grinned, freckles stark even against his own tan skin. England felt a pang of panic at the younger’s expression. His mind flicked back to America, back to the first time the blond had been excited about going to battle. He hadn’t been there to see what he had looked at after his first. He had been immersed in a battle of his own at the time. But he would be fighting alongside Australia here. He would be able to assist him. 

***

_ July 20 _

The boy wasn’t even crying, just laying there, curled against him in the cot. The cot was far to tiny for the pair of them but it didn’t matter. The excitement that had been in Australia’s eyes prior to the battle was gone, vacant with shock. The battle had gained no ground for their side and had only deflected German troops. Over seven thousand BEF casualties had occurred and over five thousand of them had been through the fifth Australian division. He’d found Australia in the mud of no man’s land during the brief truce where both sides could collect their wounded. He’d seen one of the German brothers off in the distance, but it was impossible to tell which one under the helmet. It could have been Germany himself. If he got the chance, he had some things to say to him. It was nearly dawn by the time they’d gotten back to their line, Australia uncharacteristically silent.

England stroked the wild brown hair, smoothing it again and again, although it would not stay. Tugging the scratchy blanket up higher he tucked it around the other as the youngers forehead bumped against his chest. It would not be long before the other simply went to sleep. A rustling across the tent drew his attention as Australia’s breathing evened out. Canada slipped inside. 

He walked over, picking up a folded camp chair against the wall and setting it up beside the cot. His face was dusty from a day in the trenches. He took off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair. It wasn’t its usual light color, instead muddied with soil. “I came as soon as I heard.” He reached over and ruffled Australia’s hair. The younger nation continued to sleep, the adrenaline having worn off. 

“This needs to stop,” England said quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of Australia’s head before looking at Canada. “Are you okay?”

“The line held. A lot of it was spent digging.” Canada brushed more dirt out of his hair. “What I wouldn’t give for a bath, but that’s probably a long time coming.”  

“More than likely.” England gave an apologetic smile. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m not all that hungry to be honest.” He shifted in the chair, leaning on the edge of the cot.

“At least get something to drink.”

Canada reached to his hip, hoisting up a canteen that was as dusty as the rest of him. He turned the cap, tipping it up and taking a sip of water. Some escaped the corner of his mouth and cleaned a path down his chin. In the dim light of the trench shelter, England hadn’t even been able to notice just how dirty the other had become. Canada held out the canteen, offering it to him.

England shook his head. “I have my own but thank you.” he tucked the blanket tighter, concern on his face as he looked down at the younger boy. He wondered how long he would sleep. “You should turn in soon.” 

Canada settled the canteen in his lap. He picked at the edge of the strap where it was already becoming frayed. “Can I have permission to go to the French line? I will check on my people on the way.”

England heaved a sigh. “Just please send Arjun and Hope in here.” 

“Thank you, I will.” He stood up, picking up the camp chair and neatly settling it against the dirt wall. The lantern light flickered as he moved the plywood that served as a door. It was a few minutes of quiet with Australia’s quiet breaths. The sound of artillery fire was in the distance, the steady thumping of large guns firing shells across the lines. Australia flinched in his sleep. It was going to be a long night. 

***

_ August 1, 1916 _

_ Dear Matt, _

_ I know you won’t receive this letter for several weeks, but I wanted to say that I want the same someday. I wish I was there with you, we could have brightened up that camp. We’re the New World after all. I hate that anyone is suffering through this... it’s why my people don’t want to build up my army. The Progressives think that peace comes from disarmament.  _

_ There’s bad news here too. It’s like nature is conspiring against me. Hurricanes last year and now shark attacks in New Jersey! Shark attacks, Matt! What are the odds? Four people were eaten by the thing or things, no one is quite sure. Unfortunately, my bad news doesn’t end with a hot summer and monster fish.  _

_ Despite staying out of it, Ludwig is trying to draw me in. A saboteur was captured after bombing a weapons depot in New Jersey. The munitions were stored on Black Tom Island in New York harbor. At the time, I was getting ready to send the small arms and artillery ammunition to Russia. Early this morning, some of the guards noticed fires. The entire place exploded. Shrapnel hit the Statue of Liberty and broke windows in the city. People felt the explosion all the way in Maryland! At first, it could have been an accident at first glance... but German agents have been discovered. I don’t know what it’s going to mean, yet. _

_ I’ll write to you again soon. _

_ Yours, _

_ Alfred _

  
  


***

_ November 12, 1916 _

_ France _

“We cannot allow the Germans to mobilize and transfer to Russia or Italy. We will detonate a mine here.” England pointed to the Hawthorn Ridge Redoubt. Rubbing at his temple he scanned the map in irritation as France paced across the way. Everyone was worried. Allied moral was fragile and France was facing constant troop attacks. With the air attacks on England everywhere was becoming a war front. He wasn’t sure where this was going. And he didn’t want to involve the colonies anymore, they were more deeply involved than he had wanted them to be already. 

He glanced at Canada who stood along the table’s long edge and then to the other three colonies standing in the corner whispering to each other. They had lost so many men already, he himself had lost so many in this battle, and he was beginning to feel the effects of it, and without a doubt the bouts of anger were a result of his people getting news back from the front. England was no longer sure that they could win this battle. He looked up at France. “What do you think?” 

“Do you really think this is going to work?” France asked, his fingers tugging on his chin in thought. The weather had turned bad over the past several days. “We will probably only get a few more chances before winter makes it impossible to actively continue.”

“We have no choice. This needs to be taken care of. It’s gone far too long”  England shook his head. “I also need the Canadian forces, the 4th Division, to move to the Regina Trench as soon as possible.” He looked to the violet eyed blonde who nodded. 

“I’ll be ready on my end, Arthur,” Canada replied, putting his hands on the table and observing the positions that were laid out in front of them.

“Do not mess this up, Arthur, if you do we’ll all be in a worse position,” France said.

“And whose fault is that?!” England snapped.

“I do not know what you are implying,” France said with a haughty turn of the head.

“Of course you don’t,” he muttered, standing straight to glare at the map. “I can’t keep carrying so many fronts.” 

“Then let us close one, shall we? I will follow the plan and hopefully you will make good on your promises.” France frowned. He was bundled in his winter coat and looked unkempt, the war stealing the normal shine from his hair. 

“I wouldn’t have to worry about it if we were not losing power by sending men to Verdun as well, so don’t talk to me about keeping my word Francis!” England warned. “I told you they would not take Paris. And I have kept that promise.”

France continued to frown down at the table. “And at the end of the day you are ranging your army all over  _ my  _ lands. Let’s just get this over with so we do not have to continue to be out here when we’d all rather be home.”

“Somehow we finally agree on something.” England scowled, stepping back to look at Canada “Matthew, I also want you on the next boat home soon as possible.” 

Confusion crossed Canada’s face. “I will do what you ask, but... may I know why you want me on the other side of the Atlantic?”

“Because you have been gone from home for too long. Go back, rest for a bit and I shall call you back. Even Francis will agree, even nations return to their land on and off during war.”

Canada bowed his head, nodding. “If there is anything you’d like me to take across... just let me know.”

England stared at him for a moment, as if considering on taking the offer. It was tempting. His first thought was that he could send a letter with Canada to deliver to America. But that was as far as he got. He shouldn’t be writing to the other, a supposedly neutral party in the midst of war. “Thank you, but I have nothing”

Canada nodded. “If you change your mind.” The group began to disperse to prepare for the offensive.

***

_ November 20, 1916 _

_ Dear Alfred, _

_ I’m sorry that you are suffering from natural disasters, but perhaps it is your fate. You have no idea of what we are facing over here and comfortably hide behind your declarations of neutrality and waltz in here constantly like some damned tourist. Since I know I wouldn’t get a word in edgewise when I tried to tell you any of this, I’m putting it right in front. You refused to help us and it’s costing us dearly. _

_ I am writing this to you from a boat as I come back from Europe to North America. Arthur has insisted I spend some time at home, rest, away from the war before coming back in the spring. There was no arguing. I am sure that news will get you even faster than this letter but I am not sure how much detail the papers will be given. This war is a disaster. At the very beginning of the year most of Arthur’s army was made of inexperienced troops, volunteers full of enthusiasm and pride, the best except for the inexperience. Yet, after that first day they learned quickly. The battle had been going for months, although the troops as a whole began taking down German units quickly the lack of rest caught up. Between the fighting, trench digging and everything else it was the lack of rest that truly did us in. The total casualties ended up being 485,000 men. Francis and Arthur both looked dead on their feet by the time we were leaving.  _

_ I hope to see you soon since I won’t be in Europe anymore. It has been a long time since we have seen each other. Besides that, I have some more words for you that are better said in person than through the post. _

_ Love from your brother, _

_ Matthew.  _


	5. With Nervous Fingertips

_ November 28, 1916 _

_ London, England _

 

America still had a bad taste in his mouth. He’d been apprehensive of Germany wanting to talk to him in the first place. After all, Germany wasn’t exactly keeping it secret that he didn’t respect him as a nation capable of being a threat. It became blatant when he had to wait. It became worse when Germany made him the offer. 

 

A reparation for the American lives lost in the sinking of the  _ RMS Lusitania. _

 

_ “You think money is going to make it better?” America asked. _

 

_ “I find that it generally does,” Germany replied. America stared at him. “The price also comes from the goods that were destroyed - all that ammunition you were sending to Britain.” _

 

_ “Selling. Not sending.” _

 

_ Germany crossed his arms, his blue-eyed gaze hard. He must have learned that from Hesse, it was eerily familiar. An unpleasant memory from a whole other age. “And yet it is the Allied Powers that only ever seem to receive anything.” _

 

_ “If you can’t break Arthur’s blockade that’s not my problem.” _

 

_ “And for once your profiteering merchants seem to not think it worth the risk.” _

 

_ America leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “And? They can do what they want.” _

 

_ “It is merely very suspicious.” _

 

_ “As suspicious as you offering me money? I doubt that.” America pushed out of his chair. “I’m not accepting money for the loss of my civilians. You can forget about buying me off.” _

 

_ “I’m sorry to hear that.” _

 

America shivered in the cold air. He shook his head, trying to banish the recent conversation from his mind. He looked through the crowd for England, he’d sent word ahead, hopefully he’d gotten it. A hand grabbing his shoulder caught the young nation by surprise and when he whirled around he found England standing behind him with a tight smile. Pale and with dark circles under his eyes that was haphazardly concealed by makeup. His uniform had obviously fit in the past, but now it hung off of him. “Alfred, you made it.”

 

Concern flooded through America’s chest at the sight of him. He wanted to gather him up, hold him until he could rest, but he could hardly do that on a public street. “Yeah, it was a little tricky getting through, but I wanted to see you.” 

 

“I appreciate the sentiment. But let's move this off the street shall we?" He gestured to the crowds. It was fewer people than normal out and about. People were moving with a sense of purpose and nobody seemed to be lingering. “It's not the safest outside.”

 

America gestured for him to lead the way. He hovered by England’s elbow, ready to catch him should he collapse on the street. “Should we get a cab?”

 

“I drove.” England nodded. America followed him, England directing him towards a car left in front of a nearby shop. 

 

The humming was enough to draw attention away from England’s back. It was the sound of a machine. America had come to know it more and more as he’d worked with airplanes. He turned around, looking up and squinting into the daylight to try and see the marks on the wings. “Is that one of yours?” 

Grabbing the keys, England turned and peered up at the sky. It took a few moments before his eyes widened in horror and the streets erupted with screams. It was like a current of panic charged the street and people began to scatter. “Alfred, run!” England's shout was all America heard before he was dragged forward, the crowds surging around them as people fled in every direction, pouring into shops and scrambled under cars. Shopping bags, hats and other belongings abandoned in the streets as whistling split the air, dark objects falling from the plane.

 

The first explosion set his ears ringing, panic settling over him. He got hold of England’s arm so they wouldn’t get separated and soon they were inside one of the buildings. The window glass cracked from the force of the blow, but didn’t shatter entirely. He counted. Six. Then everything was quiet, like everyone was holding their breaths.

 

He could feel England trembling behind him, he turned around, putting his hands on the other’s shoulders. He wasn’t looking at him, his face was paler than it was even a few minutes ago. “Arthur?”

 

“Middle of the day... children shopping with their mothers... kids walking home from school... people going home…” England shook his head, the quiet muttering fading as he bent forward and puked.

 

“Let’s get you out of here,” America said, offering England his handkerchief when he stood up again. “I’ll drive.” He took the keys that were still clutched in England’s hand and started ushering him back out of the building and towards the car. The explosions must have occurred a few blocks away, dust settling from whatever the bombs had hit. He didn’t want to think about it.  _ The War to End All Wars, huh? I hope they’re right.  _ He wasn’t entirely sure who “they” were, but he shivered at the thought of this becoming common. He got England loaded into the passenger side of the car after making the mistake of nearly putting him in the driver’s seat. The joke he wanted to make about England’s decision to put steering wheels on the opposite side of the car died on his lips. England’s eyes weren’t focused on anything in particular. “London house or the palace?” America asked.

 

England blinked slowly, taking a deep breath before looking at America as police sirens began to fill the air. “I'm driving.”

 

“I can do it. Just tell me where to go.” 

 

England shook his head, stepping out of the car. “Move over.”

 

Despite the chaos around them, America held his ground, his body blocking England from fully getting out. “Just let me help you. I’m on your side... it might take a few months, but I’m sure I’m going to be fighting him too. Let me help you.”

 

“I need to drive my car. Hand over the keys, Alfred,” he said tightly. 

 

America continued to stare at him, then put the keys into the palm of his hand. “You better not crash.”

 

“Enough,” England muttered, sliding into the seat as police pulled into the street. Turning the key, the vehicle rumbled to life and he ignored the officers who signaled for him to stop. It took several of them a moment, but when they recognized the plates on the car they gave them not a single glance and turned to the others on the street. Pulling around the corner, England remained silent as they moved down the twists and turns of the narrow streets until eventually they left the heart of London and soon crammed houses became larger and sparser as shops were exchanged for farm land. It didn't take long before they were bouncing up the dirt driveway.

 

When they came to a stop, America waited until England had killed the engine. It was eerily quiet and normal sounding after the chaos of the city. England still held the wheel with one hand, his knuckles white. America reached out to touch him. “Arthur?”

 

“I can't.” He shook his head and scooted out of the car, walking up to the house without looking behind him. Unlocking the door, he stepped inside, leaving it open for America before heading upstairs. He was numb and while the familiar surroundings should have been comforting it didn't seem to help at the moment.

 

It took America nearly a quarter of an hour to follow. England could hear him moving around downstairs. He reappeared with one of England’s small teapots and a cup. England was curled up in a large chair near the window of his bedroom, looking out at the landscape. Setting the pot and cup down on the wide sill, America crouched down in front of England’s chair. “Do you want some tea?”

 

England looked at him quietly. Reaching out he smoothed his hair back. “It wasn't the worst of the bombings today at least," he said quietly.

 

Closing his eyes at England’s touch, America shifted closer, leaning on the chair and resting his head on England’s lap. “He tried to pay me off yesterday.”

 

“I am not surprised,” he murmured, peering down at him. “Not surprised in the least.”

 

“The equivalent of thirty thousand dollars per lost American on the  _ Lusitania _ . I couldn’t believe it.” America shook his head. “I couldn’t accept it.”

 

“That was the best course of action. You would have been seen as siding with him and you would have been at war and not my side,” he said quietly.

 

“I think it’s only a matter of time now. I can feel it.” America swallowed. “It’s like I’m standing on the edge of the cliff. Germany’s running out of any goodwill he had with my people.”

 

“Even the colonies are involved... it’s only a matter of time.”

 

“The War to End All Wars...” America said, silence falling. He lifted his head up, his back to England. “Do you want something to eat? I can make food.”

 

“Honestly... I don't have any food in the house. All I have is tea.” England shrugged. “Are you hungry?”

 

America turned to look at him. “No, I... I just... I can’t think about what happened today. I hate seeing you like this.” America moved, coming close to the chair again and putting his hands on England’s cheeks. “That asshole is trying to disrupt my shipping and make it impossible for me to send anything here... and he’s hurting you.”

 

“I'm fine.” England patted the others hands with a smile.

 

“You call me a shitty liar,” America said, giving him a smile back. He smoothed his hands over England’s cheeks. His fingers smudged the cosmetics that England had tried to hide his condition with. “How long are you going to be able to stay away from the front?” 

 

“I return next week," he murmured, eyes sliding shut for a moment before watching him again.

 

“You should be in bed resting.”

 

“I just haven't been sleeping well. That's why I look awful.”

 

America frowned at him. “Then you need to try.”

 

England eyed him, he didn't have the energy to argue at the moment. “Come with me.”

 

A corner of America’s mouth quirked up. “I was planning on that.”

 

“Cocky brat," England muttered, easing himself out of the chair. His socked feet made no noise against the carpet as he padded over to the bed, fingers undoing buttons.

 

“Do you want your pajamas?” America asked, undoing the buttons of his shirt, white undershirt beginning to show.

 

“No." England laid his tie, followed by his shirt and undershirt, on the foot of the bed. Long fingers worked at his belt, pulling it loose before moving over to the wash basin. Rubbing the sides of the glass he watched as the water heated up slightly before dipping a cloth into it to wash off the makeup covering his entire face. He wasn't overly fond of the dark bags and the hallowing of his cheekbones... they were not even rationing yet and he was already starting to see effects. 

 

America paused in his own undressing, leaving buttoned shirt and trousers on the back of the chair. In his underclothes, he walked over to England. He put his hands on his ribs, fingers brushing against the bones that were already showing more prominently.

 

“Alfred?” England put the damp cloth down to look at the other in the mirror.

 

America pulled his hands away. “I was...” He looked up, meeting England’s eyes in the mirror. “Nevermind.” He stepped away and sat down on the edge of the bed.

 

“Alfred, what?”

 

“I want to do something, but my hands are tied. Been tied since this whole thing started. Somehow... we feel further apart than ever,” he said.

 

Tension gathered in England's shoulders and he stared at America’s reflection. “We can't.” His tone was wistful but he chose to ignore it as well as ignore the pain that was now for some reason settling in his chest.

 

“I don’t mean that. It’s more... there’s this gap and I can’t reach across it and even if I could, it means we’re both getting hurt.” He took his glasses off and settled them on the nightstand. He lay down on the bed, making space for England at his side. “Come on, you should get some sleep.”

 

England turned to look at America for a moment before loosening his trousers and letting them drop to the floor before stepping out of them and walking towards the bed stopping at the side of it, watching America for a moment, for the first time in months feeling very comfortable in his naked skin. Lifting up the blankets he scooted beneath them as America turned to watch. When England didn’t immediately come closer, America came to him, wrapping him up in his arms. He pressed his face into the crook of England’s neck.

 

England's hands found the hem of Americas undershirt and tugged on it. “Alfred.”

 

America pulled back slightly, England’s hands sliding beneath the fabric. He unhooked his arms so that England could pull it over his head. “Better?”

 

“Yes." England sighed, hesitation stopping him before pressing  his cheek against Americas chest, almost instantly relaxing. America’s arms came back around him, fingers of one hand curling against the back of his head. America tucked England’s head under his chin. “I should be angry at you, but I can’t find it in myself.”

 

“Angry?” America asked, fingers running gently through England’s hair.

 

“Just forget it,” England mumbled, scooting closer. Part of him felt guilty he hadn't stayed to help the police but part of him hadn't been able to stay.

 

“Okay,” America said, fingers brushing the back of England’s neck. “We don’t have to think about anything right now.” He pressed a kiss to the top of his head. He shifted, pulling their bodies more closely together.

 

“Alfred,” England breathed, seeing America’s hurt expression when he pulled away slightly, but erased it as he pulled him into a kiss. He felt better than he had in awhile when America showed up. It had been that way for awhile he realized. He always felt better when the other was around, even if they were fighting.

 

America kissed him back, bodies warm with closeness and affection. England didn’t want to fall asleep, he wanted to drink him in. He wanted enough of that warmth to carry with him when he went back to the freezing trenches to face another winter. He wasn’t sure when it shifted from reality to a dream, but either way he was content.

 

***

 

It was morning, England could tell from the calls of the robin in the garden. The little bird would be around all winter, foraging for seeds. He could feel the warmth of America against his back, arms thrown around his middle. His breath ruffled the back of his neck and England shifted so that he could roll over in his arms. America’s brow was furrowed, his sleep not peaceful.  England heaved a sigh, he had hoped that since America was not dealing with the war that he would be a place of peace but it seemed as if that was not the case. Reaching up he ran his fingers over America's brow as if he could sooth away the problems.

 

America leaned into his touch, eyes not opening. “What time is it?”

 

“I don't know. I also don't particularly care," England admitted. 

 

America hummed a little and snuggled closer to England, his nose bumping against his. “I guess that means we could go back to sleep, then?”

 

“Yes, we could,” England said quietly. He was tempted. He was sore and even under the warm fog of just waking up he could tell his nerves wanted to hum. The nation was panicked. America settled more against him, half sprawling on top of him. He rubbed his nose along England’s cheek. “You're crushing me,” England muttered with no heat. He glanced up at the ceiling above the four poster. He really should be heading back to the palace. But the thought itself was painful. He didn't want to. He wanted to stay here. Alfred and Arthur. Not England and America. 

 

“Keeping you safe,” America said, half-mumbled with sleepiness. 

 

“By suffocating me?” England snorted but didn't move. 

 

“‘m not suffocating you.” He nuzzled England’s jaw with affection, his body warm with sleep.

 

“For the love of the king, are you a dog or something?” England hissed, jerking his head away. That hurt. 

 

“Are you okay?” America asked, leaning up, taking his weight off him. “I wasn’t thinking.” He blinked down at him, the sleep fading and the crease in his brow returning.

 

England huffed, upset with the sudden loss of physical connection. “Alfred." Reaching up, he wrapped his arms around the other’s neck and pulled him down, stealing a quick kiss. There with equal pressure it didn't hurt so bad. England could tell America was hesitating, even as he kissed him back. There wasn’t the usual brash forging ahead. “Alfred?" he murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth

 

America shook his head. “It’s nothing.” England reached up, touching America’s face. His cheek was damp. Recoiling England started at him 

 

“What?!”

 

America reached up and wiped at his face. “I don’t mean to...” His brow furrowed with emotion and another tear escaped and slid down his cheek.

 

“Alfred! What's wrong!?” England sat up sharply.

 

“Where do I even begin? Maybe you should just kiss me.” He gave him a half-smile, then buried his face in the pillow. “It’s been like this.”

 

“Alfred...” England's shoulders dropped.

 

“I’m supposed to be making you feel better,” he mumbled. He turned his head slightly to look up at England from the pillow.

 

“Just tell me.”

 

America sat up, drawing his knees up to his chest. “Well, between the natural disasters, Mexican rebels attacking the southwest, this war... today.” He looked up at England. “You scared me.”

 

“I thought I handled it quite well." His brow furrowed.

 

“I didn’t say you didn’t. If someone was dropping bombs on me, how would you feel?”

 

“I'd drop bombs on them," England said flatly. In all truth, he would be livid. Ready to kill. But he was all possessive so the reaction did not surprise him in the least. America stared at him for a moment before pressing his face back against his knees. When he came up again, he’d banished all emotion beneath the surface. He gave England a small smile, the one he hid behind, not the genuine one that could warm England’s heart even on the worst days. He cupped England’s cheek. “Alfred?” he frowned, this was making it uneasy. He was quickly reminded of the wand in his bedside table and his fingers twitched.

 

“I’m gonna go downstairs. See if there’s really nothing to eat.” He shifted off the bed, feet pressing on the floor. He picked up his undershirt from where it had fallen and pulled it on over his head, hiding the expanse of his bare back from England’s view.

 

“I might have biscuits in the cabinet. Most of my time in London is spent at the palace right now." England scooted to the edge of the bed, his nakedness causing him to be chilled. 

 

“I’ll go look. You should get back under the blankets.”

 

“Are you going to come back?” England's fingers grabbed the hem of his undershirt tightly. 

 

America stopped, looking over his shoulder at him. “Why wouldn’t I come back?”

 

“Because you got up so readily to leave as if you couldn't wait to.”

 

He turned around to face him, eyes scanning over England, his fingers coming up to brush over England’s brow. “I just need a minute, Arthur. I’ll come back.”

 

“Kiss me before you go," he demanded. America’s fingers slid down the side of England’s face, coming to rest on his chin. He leaned forward, lips brushing against England’s.

 

Rocking forward England deepened the kiss, not in the mood for nonsense. He had been itching for the other’s presence. Now that he had the opportunity and America was acting skittish he was annoyed. America let him pull him down, resting his hands on the edge of the bed. America’s hips were warm between his legs. “What are you doing?” America asked, lips brushing against England’s as he pulled back to breathe.

 

“Kissing you, of course,” England murmured pressing a kiss on his jaw. 

 

“Just kissing me?” America asked, letting England pull him down farther. He climbed back up the bed, body over England’s.

 

“Yes,” he murmured pressing a kiss behind America’s ear. “Or it seems you want to talk.”

 

“I don’t want to talk,” America said. He pressed his mouth against England’s neck, working on a spot just above his collarbone. Words were too much just then. 

 

“Alfred.” It came out as a sigh as America’s fingers tangled in his hair, relaxing beneath his touch. He had missed this. America’s mouth found England’s again, pushing for a deep kiss, tongue pressing against England’s lips. A flush spread over his skin, a soft sigh escaping his lips as England’s fingers moved down his spine.

 

England sighed against his mouth in frustration. He wanted more and if the feeling of America hot against his thigh was any indication so did America. But they couldn't. He couldn't. Not only for the fact that America was a neutral party. But he didn't think his ribs could handle it. Swallowing he pulled back to press a kiss to the corner of America's mouth softly. 

 

America’s breath slowed as he stayed still. England could feel him tremble slightly in the circle of his arms, trying to cool the sensations of his body. “I don’t want to compromise your principles, so you’re going to have to let go of me.”

 

“Alfred... “ England unwound his arms, fingers hooking a blanket as the other pulled away.

 

“I’ll be back,” he said, walking out of the room before England got a chance to call to him again.

 

Pulling the blanket over himself, England curled onto his side with a sigh. He was tired and now he was cold. He should get up and head to the palace. From underneath his pile of blankets it felt like he was safe for a moment. But it could only be a moment. Alfred had left the room and with that his time as Arthur it felt. Now he needed to be England. Sliding the blanket off he scooted from the bed, gingerly making his way to the closet and pulling out his uniform to dress.

 

***

 

America lingered in the kitchen, finding little, but feeling like he couldn’t face England again like this. He couldn’t forget the way he’d curled against him, the taste on his lips. For more than a year now England had been asking him for commitment and he couldn’t give it. Alfred wanted to give it more than anything, but as America he couldn’t. It was possible that nothing would change back home. No one had mobilized. Even if Congress declared war that day they wouldn’t be ready to send troops for nearly half a year. He didn’t have the heart to tell England. It was one of the things that had made him rebel so long ago. Standing armies created wars, that was what they’d said. Therefore he didn’t have one, just the National Guard. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get his emotions under control. He hadn’t meant to cry in front of England. He looked up when he heard footsteps on the stairs. England had appeared dressed in his military uniform. “You’re leaving?” 

 

“I have to go to the palace.” England nodded, getting his hat from the rack by the door. 

 

America gripped the countertop. “I guess that’s my cue to go, huh?”

 

“Either go, stay here, or come with me,” England said quietly.

 

“You really think they’d welcome the sight of me?” America’s smile was self-deprecating. “I should probably go... unless you need me to stay.”

 

“I did extend the invitation.” England's fingers tightened on his hat.

 

America squinted at him, he’d forgotten his glasses upstairs. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

 

“I owe you breakfast, so hurry up and change,” England said quickly. “I'll meet you at the car." He yanked the door open.

 

England’s rapid departure struck America and he wasn’t sure if he should be pleased that England didn’t want to see him go just yet or worried about what had happened upstairs. He pulled his clothes on and met England at the car.

 

England tapped the steering wheel in a simple pattern as the car idled and America climbed in the cab. Moving the car into gear he pulled the vehicle in a circle before heading down the drive, still tapping the steering wheel. America leaned back in his seat, watching the scenery unfold as they moved back towards London.

 

“I'll have your chambers made up,” England said suddenly, breaking the silence that had begun to suffocate the car. 

 

“Thanks,” America said. His stomach growled. “Where did you want to get breakfast?” 

 

“I called ahead and had Henry order the kitchen to have a meal delivered to my quarters by the time we arrive.” 

 

America smiled a little at the mention of his invention. “I guess the next question is, will you be smuggling me in or are we making a statement?”

 

England’s fingers tightened on the wheel. “We will be entering through my personal entrance.” 

 

“Smuggling it is, then. Will I have to hide on the floorboard or something?” America teased. England’s fingers gripped the wheel tighter. “I don’t need Germany declaring war on me, so it’s for the best, right?”

 

“I highly doubt it will come to that. I just don’t want to deal with many people until I’ve had my tea.”

 

They pulled in towards the palace, the gates opening as the guards recognized the car. England didn’t stop at the usual location, instead driving around towards the side. The vehicle bounced on the cobblestones. They had pulled up at what looked to be a shed. “Secret entrance?”

 

“That's my garden shed,” England said flatly, pointing to the small plots that sat empty. His irritation faltered a bit before asking. “Do you really not remember anything... from John's time?”

 

America looked at him. “I guess not. I take it you took him... me... here?”

 

“Well... yes." He turned off the engine and got out staring at the bench that sat by what once was a rose garden. “Yes, I did.”

 

America looked in the same direction. “He... I... kissed you here.” His brow furrowed. The memory was there, but it felt foggy, like it wouldn’t come completely into focus. America let it go before it became clearer. Deep down, he wondered if he would hear that voice in the back of his mind again if he went too far. He shook his head. “Let’s go inside, it’s cold out here.”

 

“Yes, yes," England murmured, unable to tear his eyes away from the bench right away. Shaking his head, he moved towards the castle wall and pushed aside a collection of long bare vines to reveal a small door. Pulling a key from his pocket, he inserted it into the lock and it swung inwards. After entering, he locked it behind them and lead the way through the small hallway, the sounds of the palace coming from their right. When they reached their first door in the hall England pushed it open go reveal his parlor and a loaded, steaming breakfast tray. America immediately headed for the food, plucking up a piece of bacon with his fingers before he’d even sat down. He chewed happily. Food always made things better.

 

England shook his head in amusement and instead of following suit, picked up a letter on the silver tray at the edge of the cart. Breaking the seal his eyes slid over the page quickly, brow arching in surprise.

 

“What is it?” 

 

“There is a officers gathering tonight at Downton Abbey and I've been asked go attend by Lord Grantham.”

 

America chewed thoughtfully. “Are you going to go?”

 

“Yes... you met with Ludwig did you not? You have your dress uniform?”

 

America picked up the cream pitcher and started working on a cup of coffee. “I have a suit. My boss didn’t think it was a good idea for me to show up in a military uniform when we’re not at war.” 

 

“Well, you’re American so I highly doubt they will be surprised.” England shrugged and put the letter down, walking over to America.

 

“You want me to come, then?” He hoped that England would say yes. Not only because he’d get to spend more time with him, but so he could watch him and make sure he was actually all right. What had happened in the aftermath of the bombs had frightened him. He wanted to do something, anything, that could make it better.

 

“I can't just leave you here and it could be an amusing evening.” England smirked, stopping in front of him.

 

America put another piece of bacon in his mouth. He reached forward and hooked his fingers in England’s trouser pocket, tugging him closer. “Is there going to be entertainment?”

 

“Probably, their eldest daughter has an amazing voice.” England grinned. 

 

“Then I’m looking forward to it.” America said, looking up at England from his seat. “Where do they live?”

 

“North hampshire.” He ran his fingers along America’s jaw.

 

“I have no idea where that is.” America leaned into his fingers. “I’ll go.” England clearly looked pleased with the idea.

 

“Good." He pulled America into a kiss. Standing up straight, he moved to the cart. America settled back into his breakfast.

 

“When do we go?”

 

“This evening.” England poured his cup, ignoring the rest of the meal in favor for it. He waved at America to continue eating. America leaned back in his seat, continuing to eat, but leaving enough on the plates for England. 

 

Sitting on the chair across the way, he picked up the second letter on the tray. It was thick and he recognized the Prime Minister’s seal. It would take some time to read. Popping open the seal he unfolded the thick collection of papers and set to reading. 

 

“Do you mind if I take a bath?” America asked, sipping from his cup of coffee.

 

“You know where it is.” 

 

***

 

England looked up from the letter. America drained his coffee cup and got up. As he passed England he pressed a kiss to the top of his head, making his way towards the bathroom. England’s eyes followed him as he disappeared into the bedroom. He glanced at the letter in his hand as the sound of the tub being filled sounded from his personal washroom. Tapping the letter against his knees as he weighed options England listened to the shuffling in the other room. No doubt America was going through his many oils and soaps for his baths. The faucet squeaked as it was turned on, indoor plumbing had been a marvelous invention. 

 

Tossing the letter onto the tray once more England got to his feet, unbuttoning his collar and setting down his teacup. Long strides took him across the parlour and the closer he got to the bath the more of his clothes that were left behind. He had no plans to have anymore on by the time he reached the tub. 

 

America looked up when he heard footsteps on the floor. His eyes caught on England, cheeks going pink. “Joining me?” he asked.

 

“Is that a problem?” England asked moving over to the lip of the tub. 

 

Sliding over to the side, America leaned on the rim, looking up at England. The steam had curled around the tips of his hair. “It’s gonna be real hard to keep my hands to myself.”

 

“Is that so?” England hooked one leg over the tub, fingers curling over the rim.

 

He nodded, brow furrowing. “Yes. I  _ want  _ to pull you close and love on you until you can’t take anymore, but you said I can’t since we’re not allies.” He leaned back in the tub. “Where do we stand?”

 

England stepped completely into the tub, sinking into the water with a sigh of relief. “I want you,” England said firmly, “but you are not my ally and you will be seen as taking sides. And I refuse to lie if asked. Do you want that?”

 

“You don’t think me being in your bed last night wouldn’t be enough cause if one of them was going to use it against you? The idea of being in this war is horrible to me, but I get the feeling that I’m not gonna get a choice.” He scooted forward, reaching toward England. “You told me before that there are so few things we get to choose for ourselves. I’ve chosen to be here with you.”

 

“Alfred...” England remained still as America moved closer. “You're not my ally. I shouldn't even be around you right now but...” He shook his head 

 

“You comforted me even when we were enemies. You weren’t my ally the first time we... I was at war with myself then...” America trailed off. He paused within arm’s reach of England. “Maybe we’re just different. Maybe the way things were always done don’t matter when it comes to us.”

 

“That was different, Alfred. There wasn't a massive country who obviously has no problem killing neutral parties on the other side waiting. But now there is and that's the issue. Right now it's about the whole world not just you.”

 

“If it’s about the whole world, I’ll end up in it anyway. You won’t be able to protect me.”

 

“Not then. But I can for the moment,” he said quietly.

 

“I’m all grown up now, I don’t need you to protect me.” He turned face away. “If I’m looking down a gun barrel either way... wouldn’t it be better for us to do what we want?”

 

“If you say that then why do you keep trying to protect me." England bristled.

 

“You’ve protected me for nearly 300 years, it’s my turn.”

 

“It's not about turns.” England scowled. “And even if it was you aren't an empire.”

 

“What do you call Puerto Rico and the Philippines? Feels like the start of an empire to me.”

 

England snorted. “When you have owned two-thirds of the world let me know.”

 

America chuckled. “I think you would know if I managed that.” He scooted back to his side of the tub. “All right.”

 

England gave him a look before sinking into the water. “What?”

 

“We don’t have to. I cared about you before you ever laid hand on me. You can’t stop me from caring about you now.”

 

England shifted uncomfortably. That statement pleased him. It shouldn't have and yet it did.

 

***

 

America stepped out of the car, startling the footman who had come to open the door. England shook his head and allowed the door to he opened. “We shall be staying in the village so no bags tonight, thank you." England nodded as he secured his hat before peering up at the estate. It was gorgeous, always had been and England expected it always would be.

 

Whistling, America waited for England as the car pulled away. “It’s pretty swanky.”

 

“Please don't say that in front of them," England groaned as they walked up to the door. “Thank you we are fine, Mr. Barrow," he muttered as a man walked up to them.

 

“Are you going to tell me what I’m allowed to say now?” America teased, snatching up a piece of food from an appetizer plate as they entered the main room.

 

“These people can be worse than parliament,” England said flatly taking a drink. It wouldn't take much to get warm. He hadn't eaten today or yesterday. He paused, mouth on the rim of the wine glass. When was the last time he had eaten? His brow furrowed and he lowered the glass eyeing it.

 

His attention was broken by America offering some of the food to him. “It’s good.”

 

“No, thank you." He shook his head. America tilted his head and gave him a smile.

 

“Eat it for me? I need you to tell me if it’s actually good or not.” England's eyes narrowed and he glanced around to see if anybody was watching them. Nobody was. He opened his mouth, eyes fixing on America. Cheeks pink, America placed the food item in England’s mouth, drawing his fingers back carefully.

 

Tapenade on a water cracker, one of his favorites. “I think I'm going to have Henry send some of this same type up to my parlor when we return," England commented lightly, eyeing America as he wiped his bottom lip, dragging his thumb across it slowly, watching America watch him. “As long as you are content with that? I'm very particular about how I eat it though.”

 

“Is that so?” he said. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

 

“Good.” England eyed him for a moment before stepping into the other’s space. He was becoming agitated with his own rules. He could hear America's intake of breath and how he held it. All he wanted to do was take him back to his private home, have his way with him and then curl into him and sleep. Only to wake up in the morning and do it all over again. He didn’t know how long America would be staying but he was certain it wasn't long enough.

 

“If you keep looking at me at like that it’s gonna compromise my resolve,” he whispered.

 

“You've been comprising mine since you've arrived,” England whispered back.

 

“Do you want me to go?” America asked. 

 

England scowled at him. “This whole acting like you can't stand being here is starting to wear on my nerves.”

 

America shook his head. “That’s not it at all... I can’t be your ally yet. I don’t want you to blame me...”

 

“Alfred, that's-”

 

“Lord Kirkland you made it.” A man's voice cut him off and England turned to the right.

 

“Ah, Lord Grantham.” England smiled and turned from America to speak to the man. When prompted America introduced himself, the sound of his voice caused a little flicker of confusion.

 

“My wife is from New York.” 

 

“Me too.” America gave England a look. “I’d love to meet her.”

 

“I thought she would appreciate talking to someone from her own country.” England smiled. “Shall we introduce them?”

 

***

 

The evening had continued on pleasantly, mundane chatter that avoided the topic, the elephant in the room. Despite pleas from the mistress of the house, England remained strong in his choice of staying in the village inn. They ended up at the pub, which resulted in a rather tipsy British nation being carried to their lodgings.

 

“C’mon Arthur, just a few more steps,” America said, England’s arm slung around his shoulder.

 

“Oh, come now, I got it. I can walk,” England protested as America pulled out the keys, unlocking the door.

 

“I know better.” He pushed England through the door first. “You should have some water.”

 

“Mn... don’t need it." England hummed as he stumbled in and flopped onto the bed. “It’s hot." He fumbled with the buttons 

 

“It’s not hot, you just had half a whole bottle of whisky to yourself, not to mention what we had at the party.” He watched England struggle for a moment and shook his head. He knelt down to untie England’s shoes.

 

“Is that what it was? Cheap awful swill." England's nose wrinkled as he worked on the buttons. As America stood up, he grabbed America by the arms and pulled him down atop him. 

 

As England tried to kiss him, America turned his face. “I’ll just sleep in the chair.”

 

“No, no," England murmured turning his face. “I just wanted one.” His fingers traced the bridge of America’s nose. “So handsome...” he crooned. “And all mine...” He smiled lazily. “Always mine.”

 

Catching his hands, America pushed them against the blankets above England’s head. “Not tonight.”

 

England shook his head slowly. “Mmmnn, no, not tonight. But still mine." He tried to tug his hands away to no avail. He peered up at America as thoughtfully as one could do with that much liquor in their system.

 

“If I’m yours, then you’re mine.”

 

“Hmmm... all right then." He grinned. 

 

America gave him a small smile. He touched England’s cheek. “Go to sleep, Arthur.”

 

“Stay in the bed," he demanded.

 

America shook his head. “Not tonight. I’ll be in the chair.”

 

Hurt crossed England's face. “Why not?”

 

“Because we’re not allies.”

 

“I didn't say sleep with me." England frowned, fingers clenching into fists. “I just asked you to be in the bed like last night.”

 

“It’ll make it that much harder when I have to leave.”

 

“Alfred...” He grabbed his sleeve, the spirits loosening his tongue. “Please." 

 

Looking down at him, America searched his face. “Arthur... I’m going to have to leave tomorrow.”

 

“Then stay tonight... here with me. I'll see you off.”

 

“One more night.” He released England’s wrists, backing up to shrug out of his suit coat. He went to his travel case and plucked out a pair of pajamas.

 

England curled onto his side, looking out the window. America seemed less than pleased with him and he couldn't figure out why. The burning of his eyes alerted him of the tears that were on there way. He always cried when he drank whiskey. Rubbing furiously at his eyes, he sniffed as his emotions got the better of him.

 

The bed dipped as America returned. He touched England’s back gently. “Are you going to sleep in your dress clothes?”

 

“No,” he grunted, the liquor in his veins making it hard to think. He halfheartedly began pulling at the buttons on his shirt before his hand dropped. It was too much work.

 

“Sit up, I’ll get you out of it.” When England did as he was asked, America’s fingers went to the buttons. England leaned back on his arms, watching America undress him. He lifted his hips as America’s deft fingers undid the clasps. Shrugging out of his shirt England flopped back on the bed with a sigh. 

 

“Much better” 

 

America looked at him for a moment, and then lay down beside him. “Sleep well,” he said.

 

England frowned at him. “What's wrong with you?” Rolling over, England pushed his way into America's space, chin propped on the other’s chest. If this was their last night together, he didn't want it to be at odds. The liquor was helping.

 

Looking down at him, America’s fingers absentmindedly brushed at his hair. “What’s wrong with the world?”

 

The laugh that escaped the British man was bitter. “If we knew that perhaps we could do something about it.”

 

“I’ll invent something.” America smiled at him. “I’ll make everyone listen someday.”

 

“That is a rather imperialistic statement,” England said dryly.

 

“Hmmm, wonder where I learned that from?” America drew his finger down England’s cheek.

 

England closed his eyes with a hum. “Thought you were supposed to be new world or some nonsense.”

 

“I am. I’ll do it my way. The whole world is gonna be different once the war to end all wars is over.”

 

“If you believe that," England murmured, arms shaking as he pushed himself above the other. England hooked a leg over America’s hip, straddling him, body resting on his chest. 

 

“What are you doing?” America whispered.

 

“You wouldn't give me a kiss so I'm going to give you one," England sniffed.

 

“I... just one,” America replied. His face was unsure, apprehensive in a way England hadn’t seen in a long time.

 

England looked down at him, nose scrunching before he sat back, dropping to his side off of the American, giving him his back as he pulled the top sheet over himself. “Good night, Alfred.”

 

“Good night.”

 

*** 

 

The mood at the dock was somber, the sky growing gray with a coming storm. Few civilians were there, most of the individuals dressed in navy uniforms. They’d ridden in the car without speaking with each other, England throwing a glance at him every now and then. America had talked to fill the silence, all small talk about the buildings, changes, what the weather was turning out to be. England didn’t say a word. 

 

Picking up his bag, America shouldered it and turned to look at England. “I guess this is goodbye?” he said.

 

“Yes. Safe travels, Master Jones" England thrust his hand forward for a handshake, his irritation masked as politeness.

 

America took his hand, squeezing his fingers. He didn’t release him right away. “I’ll write to you.” He pulled him a little closer. “Don’t get hurt, okay?”

 

“I can't promise that”

 

“Try.” America released his hand as the ship’s whistle called for last boarding. He hurried up the gangplank, turning as he reached the deck and waving goodbye.

 


	6. The Time Has Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war has reached a boiling point, spreading beyond Europe to draw in the rest of the world. America doesn't know how much longer he can really stay out of it.

_January 22, 1917_

_Washington D.C._

The Senate was whispering when President Wilson took the podium. America knew what the whispers were about. The war. Even when people weren’t talking about it, it loomed over everything. Europe was a battlefield, bits and pieces of the fight spreading to other countries due to treaties and control. It was getting worse. Everyone knew it.

There was still a chill in America’s spine over the incident in New Jersey less than a fortnight before. The Kingsland munitions factory that had been making items for Russia had exploded. There were whispers that it was German saboteurs, but nothing was confirmed.

America settled into his chair, looking at the faces of the Senate, waving at Jeannette Rankin of Montana who looked somber amongst all of the men. She gave him a small smile, but then her brow furrowed as President Wilson began to speak. She, and others, had said their position on the war and it wasn’t in Europe’s favor.

“On the 18th of December last, I addressed an identic note to the governments of the nations now at war requesting them to state, more definitely than they had yet been stated by either group of belligerents, the terms upon which they would deem it possible to make peace. I spoke on behalf of humanity and of the rights of all neutral nations like our own, many of whose most vital interests the war puts in constant jeopardy,” President Wilson began.

America frowned, he knew that everyone hadn’t given answers that the president liked. It was going to be hard to make peace in Europe. After all, everyone wanted something. And they were too angry at each other. He continued to listen.

“It is inconceivable that the people of the United States should play no part in that great enterprise. To take part in such a service will be the opportunity for which they have sought to prepare themselves by the very principles and purposes of their polity and the approved practices of their government ever since the days when they set up a new nation in the high and honorable hope that it might, in all that it was and did, show mankind the way to liberty. They cannot in honor withhold the service to which they are now about to be challenged. They do not wish to withhold it. But they owe it to themselves and to the other nations of the world to state the conditions under which they will feel free to render it.” America glanced around, taking in the reactions of this call. “That service is nothing less than this, to add their authority and their power to the authority and force of other nations to guarantee peace and justice throughout the world. Such a settlement cannot now be long postponed. It is right that before it comes, this government should frankly formulate the conditions upon which it would feel justified in asking our people to approve its formal and solemn adherence to a League for Peace. I am here to attempt to state those conditions.”

President Wilson began to outline his idea. The war needed to end and participating in it will get America’s voice heard. He needed to be a part of it, because without the New World the peace couldn’t last. A force needed to be created to make sure that the peace treaty was upheld. A group of nations that would enforce the treaty no matter who broke it. That there needed to be a balance of power in Europe.

“...it must be a peace without victory.” There was murmuring at that. President Wilson went on. “Victory would mean peace forced upon the loser, a victor's terms imposed upon the vanquished. It would be accepted in humiliation, under duress, at an intolerable sacrifice, and would leave a sting, a resentment, a bitter memory upon which terms of peace would rest, not permanently but only as upon quicksand. Only a peace between equals can last. Only a peace the very principle of which is equality and a common participation in a common benefit.”

America could hear the hum in the room as the explanation continued. It was a progressive idea, something different than the way things had always been done in the past. The fighting to a standstill until both were exhausted and had run out of money or men. To decide to come together and make a plan sounded reasonable. Something for the new century. Maybe he could help them see the value of it. To make plans for perpetual peace, not just waiting for the next war. _Wouldn’t that be something?_ America thought.

“These are American principles, American policies. We could stand for no others. And they are also the principles and policies of forward-looking men and women everywhere, of every modern nation, of every enlightened community. They are the principles of mankind and must prevail.”

***

_February 2, 1917_

_London, England_

“We’ve already started fines against them for eating large amounts of food in public, for feeding pigeons! Stray cats! Don’t you remember? Last year!? People were pissed then and now you want to add more restrictions. Rations!?” England protested, throwing the proposal across the table back at George.

“We have to Arthur! With Germany performing unrestricted submarine warfare we have no option. We won’t survive at this rate! We will be in a famine!” The King ran his hands through his hair with a sound of frustration as the door to the library opened. His wife Mary slipped into his room with a rustle of skirts. She was there to calm them down that was certain. England sat in the chair opposite the King with a sigh. Mary of Teck was a sweet woman who had spent part of the war already visiting wounded and dying servicemen in the hospital. It had been causing much strain on the Queen, but she insisted her continuation.

“Let me take charge on rationing.” Mary stepped up behind him and England looked back at her as she patted his hair in comforting motion.

“But dear-”

“George, let me do it. Matters of feeding the public and such usually fall on the Queen do they not? Please let me handle this. You and Arthur have certainly got a lot on your plates, do let me handle this,” she insisted and to England’s surprise the King nodded. It seemed the Queen would be more involved than she already was.

***

_February 24, 1917_

_Washington D.C._

America leaned back in the chair at his desk, rubbing the end of his pen against his forehead as he stared at the pile of documents in front of him. He’d spent the last several days listening to people around the capitol. The decision to break off diplomatic relations with Germany earlier in the month over the resumption of unrestrained submarine warfare had caused a stir. People were tired of hearing about the war in Europe. Some people wanted to end it. Others just wanted them to stop on their own. President Wilson’s words were echoing around diplomatic channels. Despite how progressive it sounded, America knew that they weren’t going to stop. Someone had to win.

Sighing, he lay his head on his desk, pushing the stack of papers away from his nose. He didn’t know what he wanted to do.

A knock sounded at the door. “What?” America asked, assuming it was just someone bringing more documents. He’d been trying to distract himself with the situation in the southwest with Mexico, but he wasn’t all that interested in dealing with it today.

“There’s a Mr... sorry, Lord Arthur Kirkland to speak with you?” called one of the aide’s through the door.

“Just patch the call in here.”

“No, he’s, uh, here.”

“It’s not April Fool’s for another month.”

“For God’s sake, Alfred! Just let me through!” England’s voice sounded through the door. Without even waiting, the door knob turned and England appeared a moment later. He wasn’t wearing his military uniform, but a suit. When America just stared at him in surprise, he thanked the aide and closed the door. “It’s clear you weren’t expecting me.”

“Well, yeah. It’s not often you show up out of nowhere on my doorstep. I know I do it to you all the time, and with how you reacted to the call for peace without victory...”

England frowned at him. “I’ve got information that you need to see. My spies intercepted it on a diplomatic wire from Germany to Mexico. Or rather that there is an intention of Germany making an offer to Mexico through the German ambassadors here in your capital.” He stepped forward, pulling the paper out of his suit jacket and holding it out.

America reached out for it tentatively, “To Alejandro... what for?” He looked down at the paper, unfolding it and looking at the code that was laid out. Attached to the sheet was a memo, the message spelled out.

“It was sent over three routes,” England said as America continued to stare at the decryption. “Radio transmission and the cables.”

“Is that true? Or are you reading the wires from my embassies?” America looked up from the paper and saw England’s surprise. “I know about Room 40.”

“Alfred...” America shook his head and went back to reading.

_We intend to begin on the first of February unrestricted submarine warfare. We shall endeavor in spite of this to keep the United States of America neutral. In the event of this not succeeding, we make Mexico a proposal of alliance on the following basis: make war together, make peace together, generous financial support and an understanding on our part that Mexico is to reconquer lost territory in Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. The settlement in detail is left to you. You will inform the President of the above most secretly as soon as the outbreak of war with the United States of America is certain and add the suggestion that he should, on his own initiative, invite Japan to immediate adherence and at the same time mediate between Japan and ourselves._

“Please call to the President’s, I’m guessing he means Mexico’s, attention to the fact that the ruthless employment of our submarines now offers the prospect of compelling England in a few months to make peace,” America finished aloud. The note was signed by the German ambassador. He turned around, walking back to his desk and setting the paper down on the surface. He leaned over it, reading it again. It was completely unbelievable!

“I brought the code information if you wanted to decode it yourself. This is classified information so I hope you treat it as such,” England said.

“How do I know this is even real?”

“What?” America turned to look at him. England’s brow was furrowed, looking back at him. “Are you implying that I would come all this way to try and fool you?” Biting his tongue, America didn’t answer. England’s face changed, hurt spreading across it. “I’m bringing this all to you so that you will know what might be coming. This doesn’t--”

“This is the kind of thing that could convince my people to go to war,” America said, holding up the paper. “That would benefit you. It’s... convenient.”

“Do you honestly think that I am trying to trick you?”

“I don’t want to think that,” America said. “But I know it’s what people will say. My people are split on joining the war... especially if it’s seen as just coming to help you. And don’t tell me that my people and I need to get over our history, I know you and your people aren’t over it.”

England colored, looking away. “For heaven’s sake... I did not forge this document. I’m going to give you what you need to look into it yourself, classified information that I haven’t shared with anyone!” he said, crossing his arms.

“He thinks he’s going to trick me and Kiku... I’m going to have to tell him.”

“If you think that’s necessary. Kiku is my ally at the moment, not yours.”

“We’re trade partners.” America sighed. “And you’ve made it very clear about how we’re not allies, Arthur, you don’t have to tell me again.” He turned back to his desk, looking at the paper again. If it was real, it changed everything.

“You don’t have to be afraid.”

“Who said I was scared?” He could hear England’s footsteps on the carpet. “I’ve already seen this war. I’ve seen you.” England leaned against his back, forehead coming to rest on his shoulder.

“You were right, when you said this war felt different. It’s not just showing up and making a point like it used to be. I want to destroy them back.” He wrapped his arms around America’s waist. “I suppose that should scare me.”

“The others should be shaking in their boots.” America spread his hand over England’s. “It looks like they may have to deal with both of us. How long can you stay?”

“I need to get on the train and get back on my ship today.” America could tell England was glancing at the clock ticking away on his desk. “It took me too long to be admitted in here. You should really just leave my name on your list. Alfred... I don’t want you to be too hasty. Verify the source, find out if it’s a credible threat and then take action.”

“I’m a little old for you to be telling me what to do.”

“You have a tendency to rush into things. I didn’t bring you this to try and make you do anything.” England’s arms tightened around his middle and America could hear the truth in the words. “I’m not going to make any deals with him that are not on my terms. His few months assumption is grossly underestimating my resolve.”

“I’ll remember that.” America turned in his arms. “Then just stay here with me for as long as you can and then I’ll walk you to the train myself.” England nodded, tucking his head into the crook of his neck. America pressed his nose into his hair and they held each other in silence until the clock chimed three.

***

_March 1917_

_London, England_

“People are calling you ‘Land Girls’.” England helped the woman out from the motor vehicle. Meriel Talbot. She was a force to be reckoned with. So many men were out of the country that women had been forced to take up their duties atop of their own. Talbot had taken it as her duty to establisha women's branch of the board of agriculture.

“We are the women’s land army, I don’t see the reason why they must call us ‘land girls’.” The woman shook her head “We recruit, train women for four weeks so that they can do their tasks as well as the men while they are gone away at war. We are helping to keep this country afloat in the way that is best for it!”

“And people realize that,” England assured her as they walked towards the small door of the recruiting office. “But there will always be people who disagree with you and your choices, especially since labeling such a group is a new approach. But don’t let it get you down. You are right. This is exactly what England needs.”

“Of course we are just what this country needs!” Meriel gave a firm shake of her head, untucking a folder from beneath her arm as England opened the door for her. She wasted no time in snapping the folder open, the crowded room of women turning to face her as she called out the first name on the list. “Connie Carter!”

***

_March 26, 1917_

_Gaza, Southern Palestine_

“Retreat! Retreat!” 

Head pounding, sweat dripping, legs aching. His naked hands fumbled with the reins of the frightened horse as it threw up its head in panicked rejection, hooves slapping the hard pounded dirt. He yanked the horse’s head down, grabbing its nose to stare into its eyes with a deep breath. Angry green clashed with frightened brown. They needed to leave. Something was off.

It was like communication was broken. His ankle throbbed. It was probably broken.He couldn’t put any weight on it without nearly blacking out and the wound on his hip refused to stop bleeding. His trousers were soaked red, sticky and staining.

Chaos.

Nobody knew what was going on. With a cry through gritted teeth, he shoved his good foot into the stirrups and scrambled onto the horse, cheek dropping against its neck with a soft sob. Three broken ribs. It was like a sniper was focused on him. Cracking his eyes open before joining the throng of retreat, he found the source of his discomfort standing on a hill. 

“Sadik.” The Ottoman Empire stared down at him, his lips curled in a pleased smile. Beside him stood a man and a woman. The man dressed in officer’s uniform of the German Empire. The woman dressed in the uniform of the Austrian-Hungarian Empire. He knew her. “Elizaveta...” Shestared down at him, arms crossed and brow furrowed. She looked away when he stared back. If one war wasn’t already bad enough, now there was this one. His eyes snapped back to the masked man, fingers curling into fists as he urged the horse to move.

The man’s grin widened and from his place, England could read his lips. “The Ottoman Empire has won the Battle of Gaza.”

***

_April 2, 1917_

_Washington D.C._

America stood in the gallery, watching what was happening on the senate floor below. He was crowded by reporters and other citizens who wanted to see what the final word would be. Any moment now they would take the vote.

“The motion before us is a declaration of war against the nation of Germany for its hostilities against us.” America leaned on the rail, discomfort settling in his stomach. He’d watched them declare war before, known it was coming so many times, but this one felt different.

He watched the votes come in. Eighty-two to six in favor of the war. There was a lot of noise and America couldn’t make sense of any of it. He backed away from the rail, walking through the crowds and out into the street where newspaper boys had been ready with the news, whichever way it would have gone.

He walked down the national mall, the grass finally settled after the restoration that had taken so long to gain momentum. It was something substantial, his capital beginning to take on a character after so long. He walked back towards the White House, knowing that he should send a wire to his new allies. However, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. Especially to England.

“Jones!” He stopped, turning to look at the person who was calling his name. He was slight, round spectacles reflecting the sunlight.

“Mr. London,” America said, nodding to the senator from New York. The man caught up with him. He’d been one of the six votes against the war.

“I followed my principles in there, but now that we are in this. I don’t want you to worry that there will be forces against you at home.”

America smiled at him. “There’s always folks at home who aren’t going to agree. Every war is that way. I just... each one is different. And right now, we all know that we won’t be able to mobilize for months. I... well, there’s some of my fellow nations that aren’t going to be very happy with me. They _aren’t_ happy with me.” He adjusted his glasses, then pushed his hands in his pockets against the cold April air.

“We will do what we must now, we all know that.”

“Do we?” America looked out around him, at the people walking down Grand Avenue, not knowing what had happened yet. It was going to be all over the country by night fall. Young men were going to be walking to recruiting offices, or being drafted and told they had to go. America didn’t like the sound of that. When it had happened before, no one had been happy and more people just ended up dead. “I hope so. Excuse me, Mr. London, I have some messages to send and my own preparations to make.”

The man nodded, bidding farewell. America tipped his hat and started back on his walk, hoping that everything could be made ready before it was too late.

***

May 25, 1917

Dear Alfred,

I truly wish that you would have been here to see Arthur’s face when we were told that you declared war on Germany. I really truly do mean that. You are the one who should be dealing with his temper, not me. It really is all your fault. I thought His Majesty was worried that the room was going to be beyond repair. You should have sent telegram first so that we did not have to hear it from our services. But that will be a lecture for another time. I have sent a telegram already which you would have received saying that he is fine, but I know you would want more details.

You’ve probably heard the details, this bombing was the first of its kind, an attack in the middle of the day. Which is why the casualties were much more gruesome in one hit than the last. We guess that they were heading for London, but ended up bombing the Channel port of Folkestone and the Shorncliffe army camp. It all happened today, I am writing this before I turn in. Ninety-five deaths and one hundred and ninety five injuries in Folkestone. In Shorncliffe camp sixteen of my own men and two of Arthur’s have were killed and ninety of them wounded.

Arthur sent out nine machines of the Royal Naval Air Service to take them down. I should say that he sent eight as he also went out with them. He has his own Sopwith Pup. The German attackers tried to turn back for another round yet Arthur and his men caught them near the Belgian coast and shot one of them down. He is doing fine. Angry and a bit sore but fine. Now that you have joined us perhaps we will be seeing more of you?

With Love from your brother,

Admiral Matthew Williams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you have a moment, please leave us a comment - we love reading them! The research is underway for Book 5 (which will cover WW2) and (at this time) is the end of our series! We look forward to sharing that one with you - the research has been pretty intense!
> 
> The history behind the Zimmerman telegram and the stories behind what happened after President Wilson's call for "peace without victory" is really interesting and we encourage you to check it out!


	7. Allies and Temporary Victories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England contemplates the cost of victory. When America meets with England behind the lines at last, he's not sure what sort of welcome he's going to receive.

_June 19, 1917_

_England’s Personal Residence outside of London_

It was the chatter of the fire that accompanied England in his parlour, as well as the breathing of three boys sleeping. Australia and New Zealand were sprawled out on his two couches, covered by blankets and exhaustion. He was envious of their sleep. He was practically dead on his feet, yet his mind would not let him rest. He looked to Canada who had curled up in his oversized armchair. The blond had sent a telegram to France and then fallen asleep.

It had been four days since the end of the battle. The destruction. England’s fingers tightened around the pen as it hovered above the page. They had won this battle, but England’s conscious plagued him. At what cost?

When they had returned to London Mary had been standing in the front hall of the palace with a wide eyed look. He had dropped his coat and hurried to her in concern but she simply shook her head in shock “We could hear it here. The explosion” At that, England had gathered the other three into his car and headed to his private residence.

The explosion.

They had been three hundred and twenty one miles away. Flanders, Belgium. The Battle of Messines. Everyone had been so excited, him included. They had placed nineteen mines under the German front line. Their goal had been to relieve the pressure on France and it had been successful. Nineteen craters had been left behind. Devastation.

His pen scratched against the paper, trying to organize his thoughts. It always helped after a battle. Noise from the couch caught England’s attention and he looked up to see Australia moving towards him. He allowed the colony to climb into his lap. The boy was getting far too large for this. He allowed the brunette to tuck his head under his chin and return to sleep. The battle had been a success, a British victory. They were estimating German casualties at about twenty-thousand men. But England was afraid that his own casualties were the same. But at least they had knocked back the german line. The had gone to battle on the seventh and it had finished on the fourteenth. Preparation had started a long time ago, but so much had happened in seven days. 

He put his pen down, and wrapped his arm around the colony. There was so much going on in that battle. His notes during the war were still crumpled in his pack. There was to much to go over. He figured all of it wouldn’t be configured and laid out after the war was over. Even the total casualties weren’t sure yet. And he was fine with that for the time being.

***

_October 20th, 1917_

Dear Alfred,

I am writing to you again just like last time after I have sent a telegram to let you know that, yes, Arthur is fine. And yes, England was indeed bombed again. Although not by airplanes this time, but by zeppelins. It looks as if Ludwig sent eleven of them, thirty-six people died as they came over England. A small amount in comparison to previous attacks, but it is infuriating nonetheless. Arthur turned in with a complaint of stomach pains, but nothing else. Don’t be concerned.

Your Brother.

Matthew

***

_November 8, 1917_

_Gaza, Southern Palestine_

“Where is that smug look now?” England’s lips curled up into a grin as he watched Sadik’s horse sidestep with nerves beneath the tension of his rider. The War of Gaza belonged to the United Kingdom.

“Ve- he has no choice but to retreat!” Italy stood next to the blond English nation, a white flag tucked into his back pocket as he shaded his eyes to stare after Sadik. “I was certain Germany was going to be here. He’s scary!”

“He was here briefly. I saw him from a distance, but I know that it was him.” England's grin turned into a sneer. “He probably ran at the first cut through of the mounted infantry. He knew that he was beaten here.” England inhaled deeply, adrenaline rushed through his veins. Being a victor was something he was familiar with, and the adrenaline was addicting. And it was nice to feel it again so soon. Time to turn his attentions to the bigger battles at hand. 

***

_Cambrai, France_

_November 29, 1917_

“Four hundred and thirty seven tanks and still the Germans are up on us... there must be an intelligence breach,” England muttered as he read the latest report. His words and his comprehension were sluggish with exhaustion. It had been ten days of utter nonsense and battle.

Rubbing his eyes as he moved across the camp towards the officers’ tent he sent a mental plea that Canada would be there. He could entrust the other to work with the officers for a bit while he stepped away for a cat nap. He needed it. Everyone needed it. They needed this town from the Germans. Cambrai, although to everyone else in the world it was now known as the Hindenburg Line, had become one of the most valuable supply lines to the German troops. It would tip the war should his own forces take it.

England shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he pushed the flap of the tent open. “Matthew, I have a favor to ask of you”

Canada looked up at him, one of his cheeks smudged with dirt. “How can I help?”

“Can I ask you to handle things for a bit? I need to have a bit of a lie down. My head is splitting something fierce.”

“Of course, I can take care of things. If I have your permission, we should order more men to work on the trenches. We’ve suffered some losses, but there is an American engineer corps working on rail line. I’m sure they can dig, too.” Canada frowned at mentioning America’s troops. “Unless you’re going to let him just hang back.”

England frowned “Alfred is here? I know some of his troops are...”

“You didn’t know? He’s been back behind the lines for nearly a week. He’s been staying up to work on the rails.”

England grunted, looking back at the report before laying it on the table. “I'm going to lie down.”

Canada watched England as he passed him. He sighed. “Rest well, Arthur.”

“If he does show up tell him he needs to report.” England frowned at him “Also... Francis arrived... you might want to go see if he needs anything.”

Canada’s ears turned pink with embarrassment. “I don’t need to babysit Francis. I can do my work here.” He walked around England and went to the papers. “I’ve been at this as long as either of you two have. Alfred’s the one who just now bothered to show up.”

England arched a brow “I was giving you permission to go rest as well, but if you really don't want to then don't.”

“I can’t be distracted,” Canada mumbled, gathering up the papers.

England rolled his eyes. “To each their own then. It was a waste of ink to tell Francis to come out here then it seems.”

Canada stopped. “ _You_ asked him to come?”

“Yes, you were becoming sullen." England scowled, arms crossing over his chest.

Canada’s cheeks turned scarlet and he looked down. “Who’s going to watch the line if we’re both not here?”

“My generals are more than capable,” England said flatly.

“Of course.” Canada ducked his head. “I... well, have a good evening, Arthur.”

England rolled his eyes and left the tent to head to his own. Moving through the camp silently, he was glad that no one stopped to talk to him. Slipping into his tent he moved towards his cot, only stopping to remove his boots before sinking into the uncomfortable bed. He had had worse. Sleep came fast and with a vengeance.

***

_November 30, 1917_

_7:00 am_

America leaned into the shovel, scooping piles of dirt to send the trench a little deeper. The order had been given to dig in and one of his engineer corps had been called in to help. He could feel the energy buzzing in his men. They didn’t want to be back here when all the excitement wasn’t far away. He’d been here for nearly a week and he’d only seen Canada. He seemed everywhere on the British line. Next time Canada got in his way he was going to get moved, America had decided. It was time for England to see him.

The sound of machine gun fire broke the rhythm of digging. America could hear the shouts and the noise. Tanks rumbled to life. The shells were deafening. As the British line right in front of their trench faltered America moved. His people filled the gap.

***

America felt like his ears were still ringing. He felt jittery and like every nerve was awake. Things happened fast in this new warfare.

A blond head he recognized well was walking towards the officers tent. “Hey, Arthur!”

Tension sent England's back ramrod straight and he turned to stare at America. “Major Jones.”

“Did you see that? I saved the day.” He grinned at him.

“If you believe so," England said tightly and changed direction, away from his original path towards the officers’ tents.

America followed him. “My first official battle and you’re not gonna say anything?”

“What do you want me to say? Welcome to the party, you're late." England frowned as he maneuvered through the camp.

“They say better late than never.” America frowned too. No wonder they hadn’t run into each other as England stormed off. “If you didn’t want me here you wouldn’t have said anything about Germany trying to incite Mexico to fight with me.”

“If you want to have this conversation it will not be in public,” England hissed and gestured for his tent.

America stepped through the flap that England was holding up. He turned around and crossed his arms. “I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. That it, huh?”

England allowed the door flap to fall shut before striding forward to grab Americas wrist and pull them away from his chest before stepping in and stealing a kiss.

America blinked, surprise coursing through him. Had he gotten hit and this was a dream? England’s fingers released his wrists and gripped the front of his uniform. His feelings surged forward and he hooked his arms around England’s waist, kissing him back. “Please don’t tell me I’m actually in a med tent somewhere,” he mumbled against England’s lips.

“If you are then we are both in for a surprise,” England murmured, running his fingers along America’s nape.

America tangled his fingers in England’s hair so he could tip his head back and place a kiss under his jaw. “What do you think? Pretty heroic, huh?”

“If it'll make you shut up, sure." England sighed, slumping against his hold.

America chuckled, pressing kisses along the collar of England’s uniform. He’d been meaning to say why they should probably still keep their distance, but as England was so pliant in his arms he couldn’t bear to say it. He wanted him. Badly. He grazed his teeth on a spot below England’s ear, enjoying England’s unconscious tremble in the circle of his arms.

“Took you long enough.” England sighed again, fingers making quick work of America’s belt buckle.

“For the record, I did not come here for this.” His hands started on the buttons of England’s uniform. He gasped as England pushed his cold fingers against his stomach. “I’m here to... ah!” He completely lost his train of thought as England’s hand slid lower. He resumed his work on England’s buttons with shaking hands.

“What else would you come here for?" England murmured, stepping up and biting behind America’s ear as the man shuddered against him, more than willing in his hand.

“Fuck, Arthur.” The words nearly got lost in a groan. There wasn’t much to hang onto in the tent so he braced an arm around England’s shoulders, the fingers of his other hand tugging England’s shirt out of his trousers. “Too many damn buttons.” _If I’d known this was going to be my welcome..._ he could barely finish the thought.

***

“Works better if you're on your back.” England all but purred, undoing America’s shirt with ease. He didn't want any barriers between them right now.

America eyed the narrow cot. “We’ll break that thing if we’re not careful.” He finally got England’s jacket buttons free and shoved the garment off his shoulders.

England groaned at the thought. He had entertained the thought of America breaking his headboard or his bed with that strength more than once. Swallowing, he nodded. “On the ground.” He shrugged out of his coat and began removing his own shirt.

Yanking the thin blanket off the cot, America spread it out on the floor, before kicking his trousers off his legs and shrugging out of his undone shirt. He shivered in the November air. He tugged England over to him, finishing off the other’s trousers and sliding them over his hips. He pulled England into a rough kiss, drawing him down onto the blanket.

“Alfred...” England gasped his name as his back hit the floor, America rolling over the top of him. He grabbed the other’s shoulders as America refused to relent with touch and kiss. Wriggling beneath him, England made quick work of the remaining clothing before turning his head to croak at the other. “Oil!”

“Where is it?” America asked, voice filled with hope that it wasn’t far. England fingers were on the frames of his glasses, pulling them from his nose.

“Don’thave any... lotion is in my bag.” He kissed America again, nudging him forward, his hands finding the both of them. England was vaguely aware his own moan as it was drowned out by America’s.

Reaching for the bag blindly, America dragged it out from under the cot and began digging through the pockets, cursing under his breath when each compartment turned up nothing. Finally, his fingers closed on the bottle.

“On your back or on my hips, pick!" England barked.

Adjusting his position, America hooked his knees on either side of England’s body. “C’mon, give it to me.” He grinned as England wrenched the lotion from his hand.

“Don’t be so crude!” England frowned, squirting some onto his fingers. With his clean hand, he grabbed the others hip, anticipating the others jolt as he reached under to prep the younger. America tried not to squirm, focusing instead on working a spot on England’s collarbone.

“You’re going to be sore tomorrow," England breathed, teeth dragging along the spot behind the boy’s ear.“Are you sure?”

“It’s too late to ask that. Don’t hold back now.” He reached between them, taking England in hand.

“Little shit!” England growled. It wasn't long before England was yanking the other backwards and judging his expression for pain. America’s jaw had tightened, his eyes closed. He shifted a little, drawing a hiss from England as he settled against his lap. He could feel England looking at him and slid one eye open, lips sliding into a grin.

“Told ya I could handle it.”

“Just don’t go bitching in the morning when I take you back into my bed again. I warned you,"England grunted. He was thankful for the noisy camp outside as the sound in his tent grew in volume.

***

America had something witty he wanted to say, but the words escaped him as soon as England began to move. He clung to England’s shoulders, muscles aching from digging for the last several days and laying rail line in the weeks before that. Each little sound and mumble that fell from England’s lips he wanted to savor. His lips found England’s, kissing him as he felt the tension in his body rise.

***

England was vaguely aware of the other’s movements and sounds, but he was so wrapped up in his own he couldn't concentrate. Arching, he smothered his groan the best he could as the other dropped onto his chest. Gingerly, America climbed off him and snuggled against his side, laying an arm over his chest. “If you wanted me that bad you could have jumped me back in April,” he teased, pulling England into his arms.

“Don’t.” England frowned, stretching out and popping his back.

“Don’t what?” America said, shivering a little as the sweat began to dry on his skin. He grabbed the corner of the blanket and tried to wrap them up in it.

“Make jokes like that." England sighed. “There is another blanket in the chest.” He gestured to a large chest by the cot.

America pressed a kiss to England’s shoulder, climbing up and getting into the chest for another blanket. He came back, spreading it over England and then crawling beneath it. He pressed himself up against England’s back.“I missed you.”

“I know." He yawned. He had missed the other as well. The realization once again gathered in his stomach, although not as jarring this time.

America closed his eyes, relaxing against him. “I got ya until Germany tries and attacks us again.” He made a sleepy noise and tucked his face against the back of England’s neck.

All England wanted to do was to fall asleep right where he was, however something niggled at the back of his mind. America had tried to say something before things had heated up between the pair and all comprehension had evaporated. “Alfred, what were you trying to say when you came into the tent?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

England rolled over inside of America's embrace to stare at him. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s not important now.”

“All right then.” England says slowly, but let it go despite his curiosity. Staring at the other for a moment, he scooted up their makeshift bed and pressed a kiss to the younger’s mouth, fingers resting on the other’s hips. “You are going to have to make up for lost time,” England mumbled against his mouth before rolling over the top of the other and pulling the blanket above their heads. He was hoping to reach five by sunrise.

“Sure you can keep up?” America teased, taking a possessive hold of England’s hips.

England's eye twitch, Spain had made the mistake of saying that exact same comment to him back during his pirate days. The Spaniard had left his Captain's cabin limping after an evening. It seemed as if America needed the same lesson. “Do not blame me when Matthew teases you mirthlessly tomorrow.” 

***

England was still sleeping when mess call pulled America from the warmth of the blankets. He was starving and England’s offer of a package of stale crackers hadn’t done much in the middle of the night. He kissed England on the cheek and went after food. He was a little sore, but the walking helped. It was the standing in line that made every inch of his body feel each touch England had laid on it. He stretched his neck, sleeping on the ground hadn’t done much for that. He smiled, remembering the last round. England’s touches had been soft, affectionate even and he hadn’t protested to softness in return.

“ _Mon petit_ Alfred, I am surprised to see you here.” France raised an eyebrow as he cut in line behind America despite the grumbles from the other soldiers.

“Why?”

“Because everyone was aware you and _mon ami_ Arthur are fighting." He eyed Alfred's steps. “I guess was is the better phrase now, hmm?”

“We weren’t fighting. Arthur was just being Arthur.” He shrugged. France had always been uncomfortably good at figuring out his thoughts when it came to England. He really needed a cup of coffee before trying to deny what he’d been doing last night.

“Well good, now that you are here maybe he won't be using so much of Matthew's time up with lessons and such.”

“I don’t know. Matt is worse than a mother hen sometimes.” _And can be a bigger jerk than anyone else knows._ “He’s got his knickers in a twist about me.”

France snorted, pushing an imaginary strand of hair off his cheek. “ _Por quoi_?”

“Alaska. He’s mad that I got the border drawn where I wanted it. Won’t let me hear the end of it.”

“That I understand.” France shrugged his shoulders.

“Understand what? I had a better argument and if Matt doesn’t like it he shouldn’t have Arthur settle his issues.” They’d finally reached the front of the food line and America frowned at the meager portions that were doled out onto his plate.

“He is on bread rationing.” France sighed as he looked at America’s expression.

“I’ll have to bring him some of mine. No wonder he’s so skinny.” America walked with France over to one of the long tables. He carefully sat down, not looking at France who was smiling at him.

“You have it bad, Alfred.” France chuckled, sitting down across from him. “But don't worry about bringing him anything he won't touch it.”

“I get that,” America said, picking at the food. He had, after all, done the exact same thing more than once. He looked up at France. “Why are you here?”

“You do realize you’re on French land?” France said flatly.

“Yeah, but I thought you were down south.” America picked up a piece of toast that didn’t taste like much.

“Arthur called for me. Said Matthew was sullen," he said smugly.

“Cheered him up, did you?” America wrinkled his nose.

“Of course, _mon amour_ must be happy with me here." He grinned.

“Spare me the details.” America laughed. “Matt would kill you anyway.”

“I don't want to shame Arthur's skills." He sniffed.

America looked down at his empty plate and muttered. “I like him just fine.”

“Everyone knows after last night, trust me.”

America gave France a look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Feign ignorance if you must... but I wouldn't be gone when he wakes. Trust me. Please, make the rest of our lives easier and appease his morning wrath.” France sniffed and poked at his food.

“Fine, fine. I’m going. If they call for seconds save me some.” He got up, dropping his plate off with those that had been assigned dish duty. He made his way back through the camp and stepped into England’s tent. He was still snuggled into the blankets. America began to undress so he could crawl back in beside him.

***

“You get enough to eat?” England rolled to face him.

“Not really,” America said, wrapping an arm around England’s back and running his fingers over his lower back. “I could eat a horse.”

He hummed. “You could ask for more. Tell them who you are.”

“Nah, I’ll live. Been hungrier than this before.”

England sighed, pressing a kiss under his jaw. “You came back.”

“Always.” America tilted his head and kissed him. “It may take me awhile, but I’ll always...” he mumbled against England’s lips.

“Don’t go making promises you can't keep,” England said quietly before kissing him deeply. Any anxiety that plagued him that morning seemed to be washed away for the time being by America's statement. He scooted closer until there was no space left between them.

America slid his hands down over England’s backside and hooked his fingers behind his knee, pulling England’s leg over his hip. “How long do you think we have before someone comes looking for us or Germany makes his move?” America teased, pushing his hips against England’s.

“I don’t know," England murmured, eyeing him “You are rather loud…” His eyes brightened. “There is one way I did not... entertain you last night.”

“Oh?” America asked.

England grinned. “On your belly,” he ordered.

***

“I hardly recognize you, _mon ami._ You look so much more, shall we say, relaxed.” France grinned at him as he walked towards England. They were ata vantage point, England peering through binoculars towards the German line.

“I slept well, simple.” England sniffed, lowering the vision device with a frown. There were more of them he swore it.

“Ah, yes, _sleep._ ” France stressed the last word. He took the binoculars and raised them to his own face. “Little Ludwig learned too well from his brothers. Do you think you’ll be able to hold this position?”

“We don't have an option.”

France lowered the binoculars, a frown on his face. “With our luck this year... I would appreciate it.” He sighed, looking out at the countryside. It had been transformed into mud and ditches. Any greenery left was a shock. “My beautiful land...”

“You’ll get it back, Francis.” England turned to look at him. “Trust me.”

France looked at him and patted him on the shoulder. “Amazing what a hundred years can do.”

“Terrifying what one hundred years can do." England shrugged his hand off.

“Is that not always what time brings? Gifts and sorrows?”

“Don’t try and be philosophical it's not like you, Frog.”

“I’ve had my share of philosophers, yours were mere copies.” France waved a hand as though he could brush away the implication.

“Sod off," England frowned. “Don’tmake me light your hair on fire.”

“As if you could,” France huffed, lifting his nose into the air.

England turned to face him with a look of disbelief. “Don’t you dare act like you don’t know exactly what I'm capable of." England frowned, smoke pooling in the palm of his right hand as he rubbed his fingers together

France stared at him. “You know I’ve always been fond of playing with fire.” 

“Arthur, I’ve been looking all over for you.” At first, England thought it was a whisper on the wind. It was just enough to distract him from setting France’s uncharacteristically drab uniform ablaze. For a moment, he frowned. What was America doing up here when he’d sent him back to his railroad building? No, wait, France looked far too pleased. “Arthur?” Canada asked, a worried expression on his face.

“What is it, Matthew?” England frowned, flicking a spark at the Frenchman who swore at him in old Frankish and stepped back.

“The scouts came back with word that it appears there’s preparations to make another assault on the line. I assumed you would want to be present while the generals are choosing where to put the troops.”

“Thank you. I just need to burn something and I'll be back up." He smiled sweetly.

France gave Canada a pleading look and the younger nation stepped in between them. “We should probably save that for the enemy, surely?” he asked.

England scowled at the other. “Matthew, don't step between us.” His hand curled into a fist. Canada’s eyes widened and his face grew torn. He looked at the ground, but didn’t move right away.

“I can handle myself,” France said, putting a hand on Canada’s shoulder.

“I wish you wouldn’t fight.” The words were barely audible.

England sighed the flames extinguishing in his hand. “That will never stop," he eyed France who nodded and England looked back at Matthew. “But just because we are fighting doesn't mean you have to be involved. And I feel Francis would agree with me, but you also never have to choose between us. Not anymore. We expect neutrality from you at that point if we are fighting as people rather than nations.”

Canada looked up at him, a mollified expression. “All right.”

Reaching out he squeezed Canada's hand with a half smile “Guess I'll head up then." Stepping back, he headed up the hill.

It was going to be a long day but he couldn't afford to put it off any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed the chapter, please leave us a comment or a kudo! We love to see them!
> 
> We are going to be taking it a little slow in November because it's National Novel Writing Month! Look for our chapters a little wider apart until we get back into it for December!


	8. An Interlude of Peace and War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France, America, Canada and England take a moment from the war to celebrate Christmas in France's Paris home. However, even though the war might be slowing, the challenges of their relationships may cause problems they did not predict.

_December 24, 1917_

_Paris, France_

“I should be back home. President Wilson told me he’s working on something important. Something that could end the war,” America said, leaning his arms on the back of the couch and staring at France and Canada as they fiddled with plates and other dishes in the nearby dining room. They’d taken leave as the battlefields went to a stalemate.

“You’ll have plenty of time to travel in the new year, _Amerique,_ we should take these moments when we can.” They were in one of France’s smaller houses. The space wasn’t large, but it was very comfortably furnished.

“Yeah, but...”

The chime rang at the front door. “Could answer that, _si vous plait?_ ” America sighed but pushed off the couch and walked to the small entryway. He pulled open the door bracing himself for the winter air. His eyes widened.

“Why am I not surprised to find you in one of his homes?” England said dryly. He stood on the porch, wet with snow on his ankle length coat. His wide brimmed hat was the only thing that was keeping his head dry and the hand holding his briefcase squeezed tightly, the leather of his glove creaking.

“Matt’s here, too. Francis said we should wait to travel home until the new year. I... I thought you were fighting in Palestine... Hey, come inside and get warm,” America said, reaching forward to wrest England’s case out of his hand and usher him into the house.

“It's done with. I knew Matthew was here, that was why I stopped by.” England scowled, flicking America’s hand.

“He didn’t tell you I was here?”

“He might of. I don’t quite remember.” He unwound the scarf around his neck and hung it on the coat rack. America stepped forward, taking the shoulders of England’s coat and pulling it off him before hanging it up. England’s eyes were tired and America wanted to scoop him up and carry him off to sleep. But, he knew England would kill him if he tried anything like that in France’s house.

“I am honestly surprised you took up his offer. Or at least that is what I would like to say.” England sighed, shaking out the gloves and tucking them in the pockets. “I’ll only be here for tonight and a bit tomorrow, then I am heading back home.”

“He said you’d be here.”

England heaved a sigh. “Where are they?”

“Either the dining room or the kitchen,” America said. England had dark circles under his eyes again. America touched his cheek for a moment, but then let him pass into the rest of the house.

“I suppose there is something to drink, Frog?” England drawled, entering into the living room, nose wrinkling. “Why is your parlour always so over the top?” He sniffed, reaching out to hug Canada as the youngest blond in the room came over for a hug of greeting.

“You know perfectly well where to find it,” France said from the dining room.

“Do you actually have anything good? Be a good host and bring it why don’t you,” England snapped before turning to Canada. “You look well.”

“I’ve been sleeping a lot,” Canada admitted.

“Well, that makes sense. It was your first set of major battles after all. And you held steady alongside nations for the whole time so far.” England smiled softly. “It’s been a great help... although you really are in dire need of a haircut.” England laughed at the pout that Canada took on. This was something they argued about fairly often.

When France made no move to come out into the parlor, America made his way into the back. “He’s ignoring me,” he groused, moving toward the kitchen past France. “He says he doesn’t want anything out there.”

“Ignoring you, really?” France turned away from the wine rack, he had been choosing between vintages to serve with dinner when the other blond had come in.

“You’d think I was the one he used to lock out at night when he forgot there were two of us,” America grumbled. “Why not this one?” He grabbed the neck of one of the bottles.

France arched a brow at the younger male. “Alfred, you know what you sound like right now?” He took the bottle back with a shake of his head.

“What?”

“You sound jealous.”

That was a little too on the nose. What? Jealous of Canada? No way. America put his hands in his pockets and laughed. “How many bottles of wine have you had already? What a bonkers thing to say.”

“Oh, Alfred,” France shook his head. “To think that you would someday be jealous of your brother. I didn't think I would ever see that.”

“You’re loony.” America frowned. “I’m gonna go check on the food.” He turned on his heel and started to walk towards the kitchen.

“Are you two having a fight in here?” Canada’s soft voice entered the dining room seconds before he did. Stepping around the table he moved to France’s side. It was a fluid movement that put France’s arm around him, almost as if he hadn't thought about it. The pair often moved like that. Almost as of they were orbiting around each other.

“If it was a fight, I won,” America said, disappearing through the small kitchen door. He had known about Canada and France for over a hundred years now, but it still irked him sometimes. They had nearly destroyed their relationship with secrets more times than he could count, but were still able to show affection. Would it have killed England to actually greet him like he cared? He started rummaging through the cupboards with no clear direction.

“I was told my assistance was needed," England's voice interrupted America’s irritation and when the blue eyed blond turned, he found England leaning against the molding of the door frame, arms crossed. England eyed him with a question in his face.

America stared at him for a moment. “Francis let you into his kitchen?”

“I promised not to cook anything,” England said dryly, pushing off the frame to walk up to him.

“Well, I don’t need any help.” America crossed his arms.

“I think you do," England argued, closing the space between them. “I think you need help fixing that attitude of yours.”

“I’m fine. Seriously.”

“Really now?” England frowned, and reached up to straighten his collar. “Nothing needs attention at all?”

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt your reunion with Matt.”

England stepped back to stare at him. “Excuse me?” America bit his tongue as irritation spread across England’s face in return. “What are you on about?”

“You really don’t get it?”

“Apparently not." England frowned. “We suddenly have a moment alone and I come to you and you are like this?”

“We had a moment alone at the front door, too.”

“And you are fully certain that Matthew wouldn't have come out to greet me or if Francis would have not come to harass me? You really trust that?” His brow arched.

“Are we a secret?”

“No... not really... but do you enjoy walking around and seeing Matthew and Francis having a good snog?”

“No, but a ‘I’m happy to see you’ isn’t exactly the same thing.”

England frowned at him. “You are upset because I didn't say those words.”

America sighed and leaned against the cabinet. “You never say those words.”

England scowled. “I always show you.”

“I know that you show me, we’ve barely spoken when we’ve caught a moment here and there in the last months. I’m not complaining, but it would just be nice to hear it now and again.”

England turned red and glanced away. “Alfred...”

“I don’t want you to say anything right now... but surprise me sometime.” He pushed away from the cabinet and brushed past England’s shoulder. “Francis, are we gonna get to eat sometime this century?” America called out, walking back into the dining room.

***

England glared after him and followed him, willing his temper to cool. Smiling at Matthew, he shook his head when the violet eyed man gave him a concerned look. He moved to sit by him. “I bought that book, Matthew." He grinned as the boy’s eyes lit up. “It's in my bag in the front hall, go ahead.” He smiled and Matthew disappeared into the hall.

America leaned on the back of the sitting couch. He watched England.

“Your gift is in there as well," England said quietly.

Surprise flitted across America’s face. “Something for me?”

“Yes, of course," England said flatly. “It was going to be mailed to you. I had a man in Paris working on the last bit of it. It wasn't going to get there by Christmas, but better late than never didn't you say?”

America’s cheeks pinked. “Do you want me to open it now?”

“Either or.” England crossed his legs and leaned back into the corner of the chaise. “It will be the small wrapped blue gift next to Matthew’s book.”

He stood there for a moment and then walked out into the hall as Canada returned and France appeared, tugging his hair into a ribbon. England smiled and coaxed Matthew to open the book as France leaned over the edge of the couch.

“I will vouch that he has been practicing, Arthur.” France sniffed and Arthur glared at him.

“Sod off, frog.”

***

Their banter followed America out into the hall as he moved towards the briefcase. The golden latch remained open. When America knelt down and opened the case a small box wrapped into blue paper sat next to a square open space amongst the pristine folded shirts and trousers. It was small, but heavy in his hand when he picked it up. Fingers pulled at the tap to reveal a velvet black box. The hinges on the box made a slight creaking sound as he opened it to reveal a silver pocket watch. The decorative carving and color schemes tugged at America’s mind. It was nearly identical to the sword that England had made for him. Opening the clasp America peered at the face to find that it was nearly identical to the face of England's pocket watch, with spadian hands and a rose in the center.

America slipped it into his pocket, feeling the cool metal beneath his fingers. He went back into the room, settling into one of the chairs.

England looked up from the book to look at him. America met his eyes and gave him a small smile. Heaving a sigh, England took the wine glass from France and the small plate of treats as France began his host duties.

Dinner progressed with an energetic discussion about cars between France and America. Canada had some opinions to throw in here and there. “C’mon Matt, your car couldn’t drive over a single rock without having to replace the wheel.” America teased.

“There is nothing wrong with my car," Canada protested and England cast him a glance.

“Do you need a new one?”

“No, Arthur it's fine. Alfred's just being an ass." Canada glared at his twin.

“You should just get a Ford, don’t bother with making changes to Arthur’s cars.”

“Why would he bother with that if he likes mine?" England glanced at America.

“Because I can just put it on a ferry and send it over. It’s already ready to go.”

“I like my Rolls Royce. If I get another car it will be another one of those.” Matthew frowned.

“Francis agrees that my cars are superior.”

“Then I definitely have affirmed they are not worth our time,” England said flatly.

“I heard from Feliciano that you were quite enamored with Alfred’s racing cars,” France said, swirling the wine in his glass. “And I do believe I saw a Ford in your garage several years ago.”

“Fast things and racing attracts everyone,” England countered, ignoring the rest.

“If you say so,” Francis replied, a teasing expression on his face. “You should hear him tell the tale, although... if you scowl at him so you will send our ally into hiding.”

“Frog...” The warning in England’s tone settled over the room.

America’s fork clattered to the plate. He picked it back up as he pulled what remained of one serving dish toward his plate. “When this is all over we should have a race. Feliciano can come too. I can show you how fast I can drive now.”

“If you desire it.” England shrugged.

“I do.” America jabbed his fork at him across the table. “Is there dessert?” he asked.

“Of course.” Francis practically glided to his feet and headed towards the kitchen.

“Matthew, the fire is dying,” England murmured and Matthew glanced at the fireplace rubbing his hands together the pair on the couch watched as the fire came back. England glanced around the living room, eyes landing on a wooden case in the corner on a table. “Francis is that an amberolla?”

“Yes. One of my men was talking about it and I had to get one. The sound is clearer than the previous models.”

“Do you have any rolls?”

America got up to open the lid on the device, beneath the case was another pack filled with blue cylinders, a few black colored rolls mixed in. Pulling one out of its case, America carefully settled it on the rod, turning the crank. The sound of a waltz started up from the machine.

“Really?” England arched a brow as France chuckled walking into the room, an amused look on his face. He placed a small tray of desserts on the table behind the couch.

“I believe I have a debt to collect.” France grinned, whirling about in his typical exuberant fashion, extending a hand to England. The Englishman glared at the extended hand as if it would turn into a viper and strike at any moment.

“No," he deadpanned.

“Come now, Arthur, we had a deal," France crooned and England gestured rudely at him. “ _Mon Dieu!_ Is the gentleman not going to keep his word?” France gasped and England rocked to his feet.

“Just piss off why don't you?” England muttered, France pulling him into a waltz they used to dance all of the time. It was not long before they fell into their natural rhythm, no surprise on England's features when France would dip him, back arching with ease. America slipped in another amberol when the song came to an end. Canada hopped up from his seat.

“May I cut in?” Canada asked, tapping England on the shoulder and glancing at France.

“I have to hand him off?" France pouted and cast a glance at America.

“If Matt’s gonna dance with Arthur, I guess you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh dear, my poor toes." France sighed dramatically and stepped back from England, the shorter man quickly pulling Matthew into a turn.

“Go turn the roll, Frog.”

France walked over and turned the handle until music again bubbled out of the machine. The tune was energetic and America offered his hands to France.

“Are you happy?” England murmured to Matthew, turning the younger blonde.

“Yes, Arthur.” Canada smiled, the image of contentment.

“Good." England gave him a soft smile. It was hard at times to feel like he wasn't losing the colony and watching him and France together brought that to stark front. He lost everyone eventually it seemed. He cast a glance at America. Although it seemed one of them might be trying to come back. Looking back at Canada, he was surprised to see the other eyeing him seriously. “Matthew?”

“I am ready to use my abilities alongside you in battle,” he said firmly and England's

steps faltered.

“Matthew you c-"

“You've trained me for decades and I've followed your lessons back home. I'm ready. I want to use them alongside you."

“Matthew...” England's steps slowed to a stop and he stared at the other. He was more than well aware that the boy was ready, but it terrified him. Pulling his hand free, he hugged him, a gesture Canada readily returned. Pressing his mouth to the corner of Matthew’s temple he stared into the ornate mirror on the far wall. He wished he had the magic to stop time.

“Hey, what’s going on?” America asked. He and France were both staring at the pair.

“It’s nothing.” England shook his head and stepped back to look at the other two. Matthew’s hands stayed on the edges of England’s sleeves and he stared at America for a moment, a weird expression on his face before it evened out. 

The song came to an end and America stepped back from France. He held out a hand for England. “Dance with me for the next one?”

England had reached out immediately at the offer, but his hand hovered over America’s in hesitation. He eyed the other for a moment before resting his hand into the other’s palm and allowing America to guide him into his space. Francis moved to put on a new roll before pulling Matthew into a similar embrace as the machine crackled to life and a deep baritone filled the room.

America pulled England close. It was on the edge of fashionable, more daring to dance so close with one’s partner. England could remember when fingertips barely touched and now on some of the steps his body brushed against America’s. “I wasn’t so sure about waiting, but I’m glad I did,” he whispered.

“Waiting for what?” England peered up at him, their noses nearly brushing as he closed the distance between them. France and Canada were completely wrapped up in their own world, their dance turning to mere swaying back and forth before France maneuvered them into the dining room where the music could still be heard. England’s body was pleasantly warm from all the wine over the evening. 

“For you to be here. I’m glad you came.” He slid his hand down England’s lower back.

“So am I,” England murmured, his hand on America’s shoulder sliding to the nape of his neck, threading into his hair.

America smiled, leaning in for a kiss as the song came to an end.

England turned his head so America’s lips brushed against high cheekbones. He looked up to see the look of shock on the others face. “Not here, Alfred.” America’s mouth turned down at the corner, but England was spared answering when the sound of clinking glasses came from the other room. When had France and Canada...? He’d been too focused on America and England pulled away.

“Something hot to drink?” France asked, stepping into the living room with a tray of four steaming drinks, the scent of hot chocolate permeating the air.

“Thank you." England nodded and lifted his drink, blowing on it. Matthew came over and grabbed the other one. America took the one he was offered.

“It's almost midnight. Nearly Christmas,” Canada announced looking at the clock on the mantle.

“Then it’s only a week until the last year of the war,” America said, sipping at the hot chocolate.

England moved away from the pair to settle on the couch next to France. “That is hopeful.”

“My boss is working on a speech that I think will inspire everyone,” America said, pulling up a chair so he could stretch out his legs beside England’s.

Canada moved over as well, squeezing into the space between France and the arm of the couch. He curled against France’s side and England's eyebrow twitched as France smirked at him only to swear in French when Matthew pinched him in scolding.

America nudged England’s foot with his own. When England looked up at him, America raised an eyebrow at him.England glanced at the narrow space left between his lap and the arm of the couch. Shifting, America slid into the gap, crowding England into his lap.

Reaching behind himself, England smacked France's leg. “Not a word,” England growled, glaring over his shoulder as Matthew chuckled.

“Too easy anyway, _mon ami._ ”England sniffed, leaning back against France. It was comfortable, the atmosphere and their current seating situation.

“Just like old times,” France commented as the clock began to chime.

America glanced up at Canada and the brothers smiled at each other. “Not entirely,” America said.

England snorted. “Honestly.”

“Honest,” America joked. The clock began to chime midnight. “Merry Christmas.”

Behind England there was an exchange in French and England forward to press a kiss to America's temple. “Happy Christmas, my Alfred,” he whispered.

“Thank you for my present.” He pressed a kiss on England’s cheek. A calm silence fell over the house and it wasn't until France nudged him that England realized that he’d drifted off. Canada had fallen asleep on France’s shoulder. He shook America and he blinked at him.

“Off to bed?” America yawned, loosening his arms around England’s waist so that they could get off the couch. Moving his legs off, England squeezed France’s hand before the man grunted and picked Canada up to walk to his room with a mumbled goodnight. Dousing the lights, England made his way to the guest room, gesturing for America to follow.

America came after him, catching the back of his jacket when they were both inside. “Can I have that kiss now?” he whispered.

“Yes, yes.” England turned to look at him, stepping into his space and wrapping his arms around America’s shoulders. “Come on then, Alfred." America curled his fingers beneath England’s chin and tipped his mouth up to meet his own. He started soft, then pushing even closer. England allowed the other to back him further back to the bed. “Alfred?”

“Hmmm?”

England exposed his throat to the other, humming in delight as Alfred's lips found his pulse. “Have to be quiet.”

“It’s not like he’ll be listening at the keyhole. They’ve got better things to do, just like us.” America’s fingers started on England’s buttons.

“You're loud." England sighed softly, undoing America’s shirt in turn. His body was warm, the cheer from the holiday and the presence of America setting his fingers trembling with anticipation.

“Then let me lead tonight.”

England felt surprise spreading through him. He bit his lip. “I-" England stared up at Alfred as he lowered him to the bed. “What do you mean?”

“I want,” America’s cheeks darkened. “I was thinking that you could be beneath me. Let me love on you while we have the opportunity for a bed.” England tensed. He shook his head. Leaning up on his elbows, America examined England’s face. “I’ve been on the receiving end enough to know how it’s done. I’ll be careful.”

“No." He shook his head again. “No, Alfred. That's... not possible, no.”

“Why not? Don’t you trust me not to hurt you?”

“I just... can’t. Alfred. I... I don't even... not even Francis.”

America leaned over to lay on his side, pulling England against his chest. “As much as I hate the idea of talking about that guy while we’re in bed... I always assumed, well, Francis told me a long time ago that he thought he loved you once... you... I never asked...” America’s words blurred into each other as he mumbled.

Reaching over England covered America’s mouth with his fingers and shook his head. “Alfred... you're the one who continuously speaks of not surrendering...”

America took England’s wrist and pulled his hand away. “I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to trust me.”

“To trust is to surrender a part of yourself.”

It was America’s turn to shake his head. “It’s not that at all. It’s to give a piece of yourself. Belief in the other person.”

“Yes you give it to them, you surrender it, and believe they wont hurt you.”

America brushed his fingers through England’s hair. “Someone hurt you...” England couldn’t reply, he pulled away, staring up at the ceiling.

Draping his arms over his face he heaved a sigh. Really on Christmas. To have this type of conversation. “Perhaps.”

“Arthur...” He touched England’s chest, resting his fingers over England’s heart. He was quiet for a moment, fingers warm against England’s skin. “It’s okay. I’ve told you before, I waited for us a long time even when people laughed at me for wanting it. I can wait for the day you’re ready. I won’t ask. I can wait.”

England rubbed at his temple but rolled over and kissed him, wanting to banish the memories that threatened to creep in. There was enough damage all around them to not need to remember what was nearly ancient history. “All right.” The kisses were warm, most effective at banishing the unpleasantness that had threatened to creep in.

“Now, let me thank you for my present.”

“That's not what I was expecting,” England said quietly, his heartbeat quickening all the same.

“I don’t want to waste the time we’re together. I have a feeling we’ll not get many chances between my boss and General Pershing. And I don’t want you back in the barbed wire and holes in the ground without feeling a little bit of joy, okay?”

“No, it's not that... I just... I didn't get you a gift and expect anything in return.”

America chuckled. “It’s not like that. It’s just your present from me is missing somewhere and this is something I can give you right now.”

England nodded, not willing to protest. He smiled and pulled the other into a kiss.

***

America shifted, his face pressed against England’s back. He tightened his arm around England’s middle, enjoying the warmth and the pliability of England’s body when he was asleep. He pressed a kiss against England’s shoulder blade and tried to let sleep pull him under again.

“Alfred...”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I was,” he murmured, barely conscious. “Comfortable...”

“It’s Christmas... let’s sleep.” America stretched, rearranging the length of his body against England’s back.

“Love...” he murmured, rubbing his cheek against the pillow.

The word caught all of America’s senses. He was almost afraid to move, should the word have turned out not to be real.England moved slightly onto his back, head turning towards America. However, it seemed that that was the extent of Arthur's consciousness as his breath evened out.

America tried not to feel a pang of disappointment as he lay his head down on England’s chest. He let the sound of his heartbeat slow his thoughts.

***

England blinked, the sunlight coming strong through the gap in the window curtain, pulling him from sleep. He was warm, America’s body pressed against his, curled around him as though he could shield him from the entire world.

“Alfred?” he murmured, peering over his shoulder to nudge the other with his cheek.

“Not yet,” America muttered.

England yawned, wiggling his toes as the other tightened his grip. “Don't let go,” he whispered, only half in jest. He wrapped his arms around America’s waist, pressing his face into his neck.

“Never,” America breathed, the words becoming a sigh. England smiled softly, content to lay there for the time. Breakfast could wait. Or was it lunch? He peered at the clock on the bedside, groaning. It was nearly noon.

“Damnit.” England frowned sitting up. “I didn't mean to sleep this long.”

“It’s Christmas, we can sleep in.” America stretched and sat up beside him, leaning on him for a moment. “Maybe I’ll take a shower.”

England opted for laying back down and stretching with a yawn. That little burst of adrenaline at the realization that he had slept leaving him as he realized there was no need to rush. He looked at America, reaching up and lightly dragging his nails down the others back with a hum. America shivered, glancing over his shoulder at England with a smile.

“Sure about that shower right now?” England asked.

“Want me to keep you here in this bed?”

“I wouldn't be opposed.”

America turned around, straddling England. He grinned down at him and leaned in for a kiss. Reaching up, England pulled him down quickly tongue slipping against the other’s almost immediately. He only pulled back when his lungs begged for air. Breathing hard, England flicked America’s waist. “Someday you'll finally learn to sleep naked... make it for a more active wake up.”

“Just habit,” America said, reaching down and sliding out of his pajama trousers. “Wake me up, then.”

England shook his head in mock disbelief, dragging a finger down America’s thigh and hiding a yawn. “What if I wanted to watch, hmm?”

“Watch?”

“You," he murmured.

“Doing what?” America brushed the end of his nose against England’s.

“Do you want to be fucked or not?”

“Jeez, don’t you think you should try to woo me even a little?” He grinned. England pushed against him and America let him shove him onto his back.

“You would rather hear me talk?" England drawled.

“Well, there are some things you could say,” America said, adjusting his legs around England’s hips to get more comfortable. “Although, I know you got more talents than just talking.”

Leaning down, England nipped behind his ear, relishing in the gasp that spilled from the other. “Pardon?”

“Woo me without words.” America pressed a kiss to the side of England’s head, wrapping his arms around his neck.

England dragged America’s legs up, hooking his knees around his hips. The room heated quickly, the smell of sweat and sex filling the room. Amidst the muffled groans and pleas, the clattering of England's lotion against the wood floor was lost as America cried out at the snap of England's hips. Spurred on by England's movement, America’s moan turned into a shout of shock as the bedroom door banged open, France in the doorway.

“Shit!” America grabbed the blanket and yanked it up over his head, half-covering England in the process. “Don’t you know how to knock?!”

England glared at France with impatience. “Is the meal ready?”

“Yes, _mon ami_... do hurry, Matthew made pancakes." He sighed, tossing his hair over his shoulder.

“Matt’s pancakes aren’t that great,” America grumbled as the door clicked shut again. His face was bright red.

“I love them," England countered, shifting America’s legs back.

“Can we not talk about Matt while in this position?” America replied, wincing as England moved around. He put his hands on England’s shoulders. “I... ummm... can you get off me?”

England froze and stared down at him. “Did I hurt you?” Panic edged his voice.

“I’m not hurt, I just... don’t really want to do this... right now.” America swallowed. He stared at a spot over England’s shoulder, brow furrowed slightly.

“Did I do something?” England pulled back.

America sat up slowly, swinging his legs onto the side of the bed. “No, I just need a minute. I’m gonna go take that shower.” He stood up and moved towards the bathroom.

“All right...” England sat back on the bed staring after him in confusion.

***

It was nearly a half hour before America stepped out into the hallway, buttoned up into his clothes only to find England waiting for him. “You could have gone in and ate.”

“That would have been rude,” England crossed his arms, his entire posture rigid.

“I guess we should go eat then. Matt will be disappointed if we keep him waiting any longer.” America looked past him towards the stairs that would lead them down to the dining room. The sound of cutlery could be heard, apparently France and Canada hadn’t chosen to wait.

“Are you going to tell me why you have now decided to avoid me?”

“I told you, I just needed a minute. And I’m talking to you, not avoiding you.”

“Francis walking in on us is not my fault.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

England arched a brow. “Then what?”

America turned, shoulders dropping. “I need the others to take me seriously.”

England tensed, his gaze hardening. “I want you to tell me exactly what you mean," he said calmly.

“When I go to negotiate with the rest for the end of the war, they can’t look at me like the former colony that gets on his back for his former empire. It’s not like that between us and I don’t want anyone saying it. They need to take me seriously. If Francis goes gossiping...”

“Everyone already is talking, Alfred,” England said shortly.

“Doesn’t mean we have to throw gasoline on the match.”

“Why don't you confront him then?”

“It really didn’t bother you? That he saw...”

“He left and didn't stay to harass us. I find that the best of outcomes,” England said dryly.

“Fine, I’ll talk to him then.” America brushed past him towards the stairs.

“Alfred!”

America turned around. “What else is there to say? Arthur, maybe you can’t understand. I just...” He leaned against the wall, frustration crossing his face. “I want people to talk about me saving the day, or something I’ve invented, or something else great. I don’t want to just be the former colony in your bed. I like being with you, but I don’t like the idea of our business being everywhere. It freaked me out, okay? It’s not something you did.”

England looked away for a moment. “What do you want?”

“Huh?”

England glared at him. “We can certainly put the rumors to rest. Permanently.”

“No! I want you, I still l--” He bit off the words.

“Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!” England snapped and brushed past him into the dining room.

“And you are being an ass!” America shouted after him, the door to the guest room slamming behind him as he went back inside. England stalked into the kitchen to France and Canada’s stares.

***

“Alfred, I'm coming in.”

“Francis, go away. If you ever pull that again I will...” America’s voice trailed off, not interested in speaking to anyone at all.

“Are you really going to hide in here all day? There is plenty of breakfast for you,” France tried.

“I’ll eat later.”

A second set of footsteps sounded in the hall. He could hear Canada say, “I’ll do it.” America glanced up and glared at Canada. He leaned against the wall, arms resting on his bent knees. His brother didn’t say anything as he came to sit next to him, shoulder warm against his own. They sat for several minutes before Canada spoke, “I’m sorry that Francis interrupted you.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“Because if I hadn’t thrown him out of bed this morning he probably wouldn’t have been prowling the halls looking for trouble.” He sighed. “If it’s any consolation I would have likely made an even bigger scene if Arthur had done such a thing.”

America raised an eyebrow at him. “I’d pay money to see that. Why’d you throw out Francis?”

“He’s going back to the Front. He had promised to stay away until the new year, but he’s leaving tomorrow. Arthur is going to London.”

“Where are you going?”

“Probably home. Recruit more soldiers, that sort of thing.” Canada shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t think they’ll look down on you if they find out the truth.”

“What truth? The one that Francis is going to tell everyone about is going to turn me back fifty years in gains that I’ve made as far as respectability goes? And Arthur cares more about getting off than he does about...”

“Will you give me a chance to talk? You’re insufferable.” Canada frowned at him and America stared. “If you weren’t so busy throwing a pity party for yourself you’d realize that getting Arthur Kirkland to love you back is a feat none of them ever achieved. The other nations will be jealous, if anything. And you’re not the only self-important nation that’s been underneath him so stop worrying about that.”

“What do you mean loves me? He has a funny way of showing that he likes to do anything more than...” He trailed off, cheeks growing hot.

“That’s Arthur, he wasn’t exactly free with his affection when we were young. He can be affectionate with me because I’m still a little brother to him. After you rebelled, he got soft on me. I don’t think he knows what to make of you still. None of them do. I don’t know what to make of you some days since you’re such a mess.”

“Gee, Matt, you should take up psychoanalysis,” America grumbled.

“Stop pouting in here and go eat. I don’t want to hear you complaining that you’re hungry on the last day we’re all safe here together. Get up.” Canada grabbed America by the elbow and began pulling. For a moment, America decided to be a lead weight to see if Canada would give up. He didn’t so he stood up. It didn’t take much time for him to be propelled past an impressed looking France and thrust into the dining room where a plate of pancakes sat covered in front of one of the seats.

“Well, good morning," England said dryly, as he finishes off his own breakfast.

America glanced down. “Good morning.”

“Well, at least I got to see you before I leave.” England finished his cup.

“Matt said you were going. Would you have gone without saying goodbye?”

England hesitated for a moment. “I don't know.”

America looked down. “I hope you wouldn’t have.” America slid his hand across the table, reaching toward England. “I didn’t mean to react that way. I... this all... it’s a lot sometimes. I wasn’t comfortable.”

England didn't move, just stared out the window. “I suppose.”

“I’ll see you again soon? I’ll be back with more troops in the new year.”

“Possibly. I'll probably be with the navy and I don't think we will have Americans out there.”

America focused on his food, worry spreading through his chest. _Don’t misunderstand me. Please, Arthur._ “Be safe.”

“Yes." England got to his feet and pushed away from the table. “Enjoy your breakfast, I need to go wash and send for the car.”

***

America sat in the parlor, a book open in his lap, but he wasn’t reading a word. He stared at the door that faced the hall, England would have to pass it to leave. He could hear the rattle of the car waiting at the curb. He sat up, stocking feet on the floor and moving to his feet. “Arthur!” He jumped up and walked out into the hallway.

England paused in the buttoning of his coat and looked at the other with a mild expression. "Yes?”

America didn’t slow down, hands cupping England’s cheeks and he kissed him, pushing him against the wall.

Eyes open wide England grabbed his wrists in shock before returning the kiss with hesitation.

“That’s a promise for the next time I see you,” America said, pulling away.

England frowned at him and grabbed his hat. “Who knows.”

“Seriously, don’t get blown up.”

Shoving his hat on his head he opened the door and paused. “You know, Alfred... I was happy to see you.” He stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

America stared at the door, indecision warring in his stomach. It hadn’t worked. He could hear the engine whirring as it began to accelerate. He wrenched the door open and ran out into the cold. The car hadn’t gained much speed. He chased after it, ignoring how the slush of the street soaked into his socks. He grabbed the frame of the door, startling the driver who slammed on the brakes. He wrenched England’s door open. “You can’t leave it at that.”

“Are you bloody mad!?” England shouted

“Maybe a little. Please don’t go, yet. We’ll go somewhere else, but I’m not allowing you to go back with things like this.”

“I am due for London, Alfred!” England shot a look at the driver who was staring at them.

“Then take me with you. I can leave from London just as easily as Paris.”

“You... you...” England shook his head before snapping, “Go get your blasted bag! I already feel bad enough I pulled this man away from his Christmas!” America let go of the car door and began jogging back towards France’s house. Crossing his arms, England leaned back against his seat, scowling as he waited for the other.

America was back quickly. “I couldn’t find Matt or Francis so I had to leave them a note.”

England's nose wrinkled as the car rumbled back to life. “You are stark raving mad.” He scooted over shaking his head at the other.

“Well, you’re gonna have to get used to it.” America settled down and reached into his rucksack for a dry pair of socks.

England watched him for a moment before shaking his head again. “You are worse than a tennis match this morning.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, pulling off the dripping socks and trying to dry his feet before pulling on the fresh pair.

“First you like me. Then I'm an arse and now you are coming to London with me. Back and forth.”

America’s cheeks colored, brow furrowing. “If it had been the other way ‘round would you have wanted to continue?”

“Yes," England said dryly. “I don't like others deterring me from my chosen path.”

“But you also have nothing to prove anymore. You could start walking backwards everywhere and half of the world would follow suit.” America leaned against the back of the seat, head dropping back. “I got uncomfortable and it wasn’t what I wanted to do anymore. Are you going to fault me for that?”

“No, but I will fault you for screaming at me and insulting me.”

“I didn’t insult you. I was trying to tell you how I felt and you took it the wrong way.”

“You called me an arse!" England shouted.

“That wasn’t what I said! And I specifically said jackass and you can be as stubborn as one of those sometimes!”

“You did not! You can't even remember your insults!”

“I remember my observation just fine!”

England bristled. “You really chased after the car to argue with me over insults!?”

“No, I chased after the car because I lo-” America cut the word off mid sentence. “Because I didn’t want to you to leave on bad terms!”

“Because you wanted to continue fighting is what it seems like!”

America’s fingers hung loosely in England’s sleeve, when he reached for him. “We both have to stop at the same time for it to work.”

“Good. Done." He frowned and looked out the window. America settled into his seat, looking out his own side and kept his fingers hooked loosely into his clothes.

***

America expected being left to his own devices in his room. He settled into catching up on the letters he’d had stuffed in his luggage, several he had to run to the palace telegraph office to send replies. The tapping of the receiver was hypnotic. The endless dots and dashes that were a language unto their own. It was late when he plucked the headset off his ears and made his way back to his room. Any replies that he would get back could wait for tomorrow. If it was important someone would wake him.

The fire was warm and America dressed in his pajamas. For a moment, he looked at the door panel where England would sometimes appear. The one that connected to their rooms. A mixed emotion stirred in his chest. England hadn’t listened. Again. He was too tired to work it out. Pulling back the blankets, he crawled between them, pulling a pillow into his arms. He would leave on the next ship out. There might even be some of his own naval ships in port nearby. He closed his eyes, letting the tiredness from not sleeping the night before and having no real rest for weeks before that.

***

Moving through the pathway quickly, England’s bare feet made no sound against the stone floor, the swish of his oversized house robe the only sound. Stepping up to the back of the hidden door the green eyed blond took notice of its locked status when be pressed against it lightly and it didn't budge. Muttering quietly, he listened to the click as the lock gave way. Convenient spell.

Slipping in, England left the door slightly ajar before turning around. The fire in in the hearth was still going strong, just like he had spelled it, same as his room. His eyes fell on America who was asleep in the bed. Coming to the foot, he hesitated before moving over to the side as the other stirred.

America’s brow furrowed in his sleep, rolling over onto his back. He startled a little, waking up from some dream, seeing England in the same moment and sitting up. He seemed still half a sleep when he recognized him and settled back down on the bed. He pushed the blanket open beside him. An unspoken invitation.

Eyeing him, England lifted on knee onto the bed and scooted in, leaning back into the unoccupied oversized pillow.

America leaned over, settling his head against England’s leg. He sighed, body relaxing besides England’s. Staring at the fireplace, England’s fingers found their way into America’s hair, stroking it slowly. It was calming and didn’t require much brain power. An easy way to test the waters. America closed his eyes and made himself more comfortable. He lay his hand on England’s knee. England’s hand stilled and he peered down at the other silently. America shifted so he could look up at England.

“What?” England asked.

“Just like looking at you.” America took England’s hand and held it between his own. He yawned, closing his eyes again.

“Go to sleep."

America nodded, turning so that he could wrap an arm around England’s waist and press his face against the front of his robe.

“You are so exhausting,” England muttered.

“Then stay here,” America murmured. “Sleep with me, darling.” He ended with another yawn.

England flushed, pinching his ear. “Don’t be a prat.”

“I’ll keep you warm. Just wanna sleep...”

“...not yet, Alfred.”

America was silent, his breathing becoming more even as he began to drift. England sighed in defeat, sinking completely into the pillow and allowing his eyes to slid shut. He might as well sleep since he was pinned.

***

The knocking on the door woke them both. A sliver of dawn light slipped through the gap between the inner shutter and the curtain. The fire was low and the room mostly dark. America leaned up from his position, stretching a little and yawning as he slipped out of the blankets. He pulled the door open slightly, peering at the person on the other side and taking the telegram cards. He walked back over to edge of the bed and reached for the lamp. The room was soon awash in the yellow light from the bulb.

Peering up from the nest of blankets and his oversized robe, England brushed his mussed bangs from his forehead with a yawn. Blinking he watched the other. America turned around to look at him. “I guess I’ve got to go back to work. My boss wants me back home three days ago.” He offered England a lop-sided grin.

Arthur just looked at him before turning away and pulling the blankets back up. America hesitated for a moment, but climbed back up on the bed and pressed up against England’s back, wrapping him up in his arms blankets and all. “I’ll miss you.”

“When are you leaving?”

“He said to come post haste.”

“To be expected.”

Pressing his mouth against the back of England’s neck in just the ghost of a kiss, America said, “I’m gonna get my things together.”

“You're going to leave now?” England rolled over to stare at him.

“That is the meaning of post haste.” He looked in England’s eyes. He brushed the back of his fingers against England’s cheek. “I really am gonna miss you.”

“Just pretend you didn’t read the telegram yet.”

America’s eyes widened. “That’s not usually what you say.”

England looked away with a scowl. “Forget it.”

“No.” America turned England’s face back toward him. “Just tell me. Say you want me to stay with you.”

England gaped at him, cheeks tinting red as he averted his gaze. “Alfred... it would be rude to leave before breakfast...”

The corner of America’s mouth quirked up. “Are you asking me to stay for breakfast?”

“I said it would be rude to leave before then. You are a guest here.”

“Ask me to stay.”

England scowled, pulling America’s hands from his face and pressing a butterfly kiss on his mouth. America caught him by the collar of his robes, keeping him close. “Tell me something nice before they send my ambassador in here to rip me from your arms.”

“You...” England turned red. “I... something nice? What does that even mean?”

“You know... endearments and such, sweetheart.”

“Idiot!” England stammered. “Those are your... your choice! To use such rubbish!”

“You choose one then.”

“What if I don’t want to use one!?”

America leaned in closer, bumping his nose against England’s. “Just think about it, okay?”

“Make it worth my time?” A teasing lilt entered his voice. America chuckled, leaning forward and pressing a kiss against England’s mouth. England returned the kiss slowly, lazily, draping his arms around America’s neck, the large sleeves falling back to pool around his shoulders.

Humming against his lips, America drew him in as close as he could get through the tangle of blankets. At first, he didn’t hear the knocking until England was pulling back. The sound of a door to the parlor, got his attention.

“What is it? And stay out there, I’m not fit to be seen,” America shouted, keeping England in his arms.

“Mr. Page sent me,” called a young man, likely one of the ambassador’s aides. “He said to remind you that President Wilson has recalled you back to the States and that you’re expected to comply as soon as possible.”

“And I will,” America called back.

“Mr. Page added that he knows you received the telegram so don’t make his job any harder.” The voice came with the sound of dictation. America could just picture the aide in the hall with a sheet of paper of Mr. Page’s notes. Newspapermen turned politicians always seemed to be like that.

“All right. All right. When does he want me?”

“He said he preferred before ten this morning.”

“What time is it now?”

“Nine a.m., sir.”

“Fine, I’ll see him at ten.” The man’s footsteps retreated. America turned back to England. “Duty calls.”

“We have time.” England argued, pulling him back down into a kiss. He had no plans to let the other leave yet. He’d order all Americans out of his palace if it happened one more time. America let himself be pulled in, rolling over, leaning on his elbows to keep some of his weight off England. “I told you naked...” England breathed as he pulled back for air, “My robes don’t even half to be removed.” He smiled lazily.

“Ah, I see. This is a lesson.” America slid his hand in between them so he could push England’s robe open and rub a hand along his rib cage.

“Perhaps.” He sighed, tapping his fingers down America’s shoulders.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” America said, toying with the sash.

“Good.” England pulled him into another kiss.

***

America lay across him, panting for breath. Fishing into the bedside table, England pulled open the drawer and got out a cigarette case, pulling one free before glancing down at the other.He had made sure that this guest room, the one he saved for America, always had a fresh stash of his favorite smokes in the drawers. Always ready there for him after an enjoyable time. Such as this, the kind that left the younger tired, and draped across his knees like a lazy cat. “Alfred... do me a favor would you?”

“Hmmm?” America asked, turning his head to look at him.

“My match box is in the other table, fetch it for me would you?” He popped open the case to pull out a hand rolled smoke, placing it between his lips.

“Seems silly to put it over there.” America stretched, shifting so he could ease the drawer open and search for the matches.

England merely hummed at him, making no move to take the matches when America tried to hand them to him. He shook his head and gestured for America to strike one.

Adjusting his position, America lit the match and held it up to England.Leaning forward he allowed America to light his cigarette. Leaning back England took a deep breath, eyes closing in pleasure. “Thanks, love,” he exhaled.

America’s eyes widened and he smiled. He watched England’s face and England made a point not to quite meet his eye. He forgot about the match. Then he flinched. “Ouch!” America blew out the match, but hadn’t spared the tips of his fingers.

England gave a disapproving look before shaking his head and bringing it back to his lips. “Need to practice more it seems.”

America held up his wounded finger tips. “Kiss it better?”

“Like when you were a colony?”

“More like how you would make it better now.”

England eyed him, exhaling a cloud. “Really now? Let me finish this then I'll show you." He grinned.

America lay back on the bed, arms stretched over his head. “How long until they come back knocking do you think?”

“If they come in, I'll just called the guards.” England shrugged, his free hand making its way over to Americas chest to draw nonsensical patterns.

America smiled, sleepily. “That would be one for the moving pictures.”

England eyed his smoke, which had become a small stub at this point. “The next ship doesn't even leave until this afternoon... plus you promised me and his Majesty to dine with us at supper yesterday. What will your president say if you return post haste and anger the King of Great Britain and Ireland, hmmm?”

“Twist my arm about it why don’t ya.” America brushed his fingers over England’s thigh.

“Don't sound so reluctant.” England frowned, pinching the other’s stomach fat. “Leave then.”

“Cool your engine, sweetheart.” America leaned up on his elbows. “I thought you were gonna make me feel better.”

England's nose wrinkled at the nickname. “My name is Arthur... and honestly you have a New Jersey accent right now and it sounds so sleazy.”

“Which accent would you prefer? Arthur.” He winked at him. England turned red, in either frustration or embarrassment he wasn't sure. But he was certain he didn't understand the old insult. Scowling, England turned his head away and crossing his arms. America sighed and sat up, crawling over to England’s place. He took England’s wrists and tried to uncross his arms. “Talk to me. We can play games with the bureaucrats for a little while, but you know I will eventually have to go. Next time I see you we’ll be back at the Front. C’mon.”

“You haven't done anything," England muttered.

“Then why are you making that face?”

“It's just my face!”

“No, you get a line just here,” America said, reaching up between England’s brows and brushing his pointer finger across them. “When you are displeased with something or it’s not going the way you planned.”

England scowled. “Must be there permanently, then.”

“Maybe I can kiss it away?”

“Actions speak louder than words, love.” England sniffed.

America smiled, the endearment warming his cheeks. He leaned up, pressing a kiss between England’s brows.

Turning a burning red, England muttered as America's arms wrapped around him. There was a brief moment of peace in the room, England's eyes sliding shut as America’s mouth drifted over his cheekbones. A series of rapid knocks followed by a loud sigh echoed from the other side of the door.

“Are you like still sleeping you two!? Totally not cool!”

America pulled away. “Just a moment,” he shouted at the door. He climbed off the bed, cheeks red and went to his dresser to yank a robe off the top and cover up. “What is it?” he asked without opening the door.

“Oh, good you’re awake!” Poland flounced into the room and over to the bed as England tied off his robe with the shake of his head.

“Apparently Europeans don’t know how to knock...” America grumbled as he walked back over. “Can I help you with something?”

“Um, excuse me I did knock! You answered the door!” He plopped onto the bed to bat his eyes at England who sighed.

“Honestly?”

“Totally." Poland grinned. “Like yesterday.”

“That doesn’t answer why you’re here. Shouldn’t you be with... whose side are you on anyway?” America crossed his arms and stared at him.

Poland's face darkened and England shot America a withering look. “You know I like totally always stand up for you for Arthur's sake, but maybe some of the other nations are right,” Poland answered through clenched teeth.

America squinted at him for a moment and then walked over to the side table to pick up his glasses. “What do you mean?”

“Alfred...” England said carefully, shaking his head before squeezing Poland's hand. “Don't worry about it, Feliks, I-”

“I'm like, being used as a war front for three different countries.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Really obvious." Poland shrugged, flipping his hair over his shoulder as he cleared his expression. “Arthur, we are like super late for breakfast.” America glanced over at England, raising his eyebrows in question - _you had a meeting with someone even though you were begging me to skip mine?_

“Feliks... when did you even get here?” England peered at the other who shooed him. “Like thirty minutes.” He peered at America. “Not early enough it seems.” He grinned.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get at,” America said. When the older nations were not immediately forthcoming, he went over to his rucksack that lay open on a chair next to the dresser drawers. He yanked some clothing out of it. “I’m gonna get dressed.”

“I probably should do the same." England sighed, scooting out of the bed and moved towards the door. “I'll see you two at breakfast then.” He disappeared behind the wall with a glance at America.

“Well, I’ll meet you, Feliks.” America started towards the bathroom.

“I think I'll just wait here.” Poland flopped back on the bed, feet kicking.

“Suit yourself.” America walked into the bathroom and turned on the water.

“So, you're sticking around,” Poland called from the other room.

“For what?”

“With Arthur?”

“I have to leave today.”

“I meant, like, in general.”

“Huh?” he said, splashing water on his face.

“You've more than spent several decades sleeping with the British Empire... I think the only one who has been in that position longer was totally Francis... so... you done?”

America looked into the mirror, the red creeping across his nose. “It’s nobody's business. But since you’re asking, no, I’m not done with Arthur. Who’s saying that?”

“Just wondering.”

“Why?” America grabbed the towel and dried off his face. He shrugged out of his pajama shirt so he could continue washing up.

“I am always ahead of the rumor mill. Even before Francis.”

America rolled his eyes. “Is that all you wanted?”

“To know if I needed a gun or not? Uh, like, yes!”

“Why would you need a gun?” America pulled on a clean undershirt and paused, leaning on the sink. Why was he even answering these questions? He’d told Poland it was none of his business.

“To make you leave if it was a total game. All of Europe is wondering.”

Pulling on the rest of his clothes, America walked back out into the room. He looked at Poland who was casually leaning on the wall beside the bathroom door. “Why would it be a game?”

“Everyone has been like placing bets on how you are going to try and kill him and totally how long you'll drag it out.”

America had been looping his tie around his neck and he paused. “What?! That’s completely absurd! I’d never do that to Arthur.”

“Well," Poland began ticking off his fingers, walking back across the room so he could stay in America’s view. “There was your revolution... and 1812... and now you're sleeping with him even though you almost killed him in the past, um, so, like, everyone has the total right to be suspicious.”

“I was never trying to kill him.”

Poland hummed and examined his nails for a moment before draping himself over the side of the bedpost. “Stories do get all out of sorts, don’t they?”

“I guess.” America shrugged. “Maybe everyone shouldn’t gossip so much.”

“Says the boy with so many questions in his eyes.”

“You been reading Freud, too?”

“Like, no.” Poland shook his head with annoyance. “Francis wasn’t totally joking...” Poland stared at him as if America’s lack of understanding was causing him pain “Are you going to ask questions or, like, not? Hurry up.”

“Fine.” America shoved his hands in his pockets, turning around and watching Poland. “What is everyone saying about me?”

“The desperation portion? Or that you are piggybacking an empire so you can overthrow him in the end?” Poland drawled “Or that you are like irrevocably in love with Arthur?”

America turned away from him, cheeks hot. “Do you all say that sort of stuff to Arthur?”

“Or, like, perhaps you are plotting with his enemies to crush him,” Poland continued, ignoring the question. “Or another lover is working with you to take him down? Or! Perhaps you are consuming Arthur’s affections as a means to get at someone else, perhaps one of Arthur’s old bed mates?”

America leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Oh really? Who are the candidates?”

“Which one? Your lover or the the ones you are getting back at?”

“Lovers.”

Poland began ticking off his fingers. “France, one or both of the Irelands - although I don’t know who could handle more than one at a time - that Japan fellow, Prussia, even possibly Russia or his sisters.” His face twisted in disgust. “Although, if it were the youngest I am leaving now as I don’t trust your sanity any longer.”

America started to laugh. “The gossips sure do miss their mark.”

“Really? I think the majority of those are completely feasible.” Poland crossed his arms. “France and England’s history speaks for itself. You sheltered Colleen despite England’s disgust at the idea, no one knows what Japan is thinking or his goals, and Prussia did train you to defeat England so long ago. And as for Russia or his sisters? Russia and England can’t stand each other and Belarus is so enamored with her brother that she would run England through just to please him.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t, like, care because Arthur could easily kill you on his own if that was the case. I just need to know when to show up and help clean up the blood.”

_Except I know that Arthur couldn’t kill me even when our relationship was at its worst._ Apparently, though, no one else knew that. And if France did, he hadn’t told a soul. “I doubt Arthur likes being called the sap being tricked by me.”

“No, he doesn't.” Poland shook his head. “Especially when he is in his cups or in his bed afterwards. He’s also, like, a wretched bed hog when he's drunk.”

“So he’s still with... other people?”

“Not that I, like, know of. That is totally between you two though.”

America hid a smile behind his hand. “What’s he say when he’s drunk?”

Poland gave him a flat look. “You want to try and translate that rambling?”

“Fair enough.” America coughed. “So the people who don’t think I’m trying to secretly backstab Arthur... what do they say?”

“That you’ll totally do anything he says.”

“Then they don’t know me very well.” America frowned. “And they don’t pay much attention to the newspapers. We’re always disagreeing about stuff.”

“Mnhm,” Poland hummed, leaning back on his arms. “Next.”

“What do you think about all of that?”

“All of it?” Poland mused. “Me, like, personally? I think you're, like, totally head over heels in love with him. Disgustingly obvious in my opinion.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No... maybe." Poland kicked his feet.

“Maybe?”

Poland looked up at him. “If you really wanted to hurt someone wouldn't you go after what is most precious to them?”

“Then they’re just gonna realize they made a huge mistake. It’s why guys like Ivan try to drive wedges between us.”

Poland arched a brow. “Oh, is the isolationist going to go to war over the United Kingdom?”

“What are you trying to say?”

“If someone tried to kill Arthur what would you do?”

“I would stop them.”

Poland leaned against the bedpost, cheek smashing against the wood. “Such a boring response.”

“What were you expecting me to say?”

Poland shrugged. “If I had the power to stop someone from taking Toris from me I'd gut him." The toe of his shoe dug into the rug. “See how long they could go without oxygen... if it really hurts them when bones are broken.”

“Well, I’m not like that,” America said. “And I guess Toris hasn’t told you?”

“You never know until you experience it." Poland said firmly. “And Toris and I are an off topic question, Alfred.”

“Fine, I guess he’ll let you know sooner or later.” America sighed. “What else did you want to tell me?”

“Toris and I tell each other everything." Poland frowned, hands digging into the blankets, all trace of his flippant speech pattern gone. “And I am telling you these things for your benefit, not my own, so do not act like this is some chore for you.”

“Are you doing this for me or Arthur?”

“Why does it matter? You are-" Poland took a deep breath before standing up. “Like, I am totally bored with this. I'm not gonna wait any longer. Starving much?” He strode away from the bed as the secret door opened back up England slipping back into the room, dressed this time.

As they started down the hall towards breakfast, America put a hand on the small of England’s back, trying to get him to slow down. “Do you know what they’re saying about us?”

“Who?” England stopped to look at him.

“Feliks just told me a lot of stuff...”

England arched a brow. “And pray tell what juicy gossip did Feliks relay today? I have been rather lazy at keeping up as of late.”

“That some people are saying I’m trying to dupe you.”

“And are you?”

“No, I don’t know where they got that idea at all.”

“All right then." England nodded as if that was it.

America slid his hand up England’s back and squeezed his shoulder. “He certainly had a long list of things. Glad to know you don’t listen to that talk.”

“Oh, I listen,” England said flatly, crossing his arms.

“None of that stuff is true.”

“Not a single one?” England frowned, a small sting in his stomach. There had been one rumor in particular that sounded far better than the others. However, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted it to be true either.

“None of the stuff about trying to trick you or other nations they say I’m with.”

A denial of lovers and trickery. Not of love. “All right, then.” He looked up at the other. “Then shall you give me something to tide me over and then go to breakfast?”

America glanced down the hall where Poland had disappeared around the corner. He used the hand he had on England’s shoulder to pull him close. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against England’s.

England smiled against his mouth, larger hands wrapping around his waist. “That's it, my love,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! We love to see comments and kudos!
> 
> One left in Book 4! We're really excited to bring you Book 4.5 and are currently underway with our research for Book 5 which is going to be a doozy! World War II is a major development in Anglo-American relations and we're really excited for those scenes!


	9. The End Has Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England faces chaos at home and during treaty negotiations for the end of the Great War... America isn't helping matters.

_18 April, 1918_

_Mansion House, Dublin_

_Irish Anti-Conscription Committee_

“You can’t do this Arthur! You can’t force conscription upon my people!” The sharp shrill voice of his sister met his ears and England’s fingers halted on his tie as the door to his temporary quarters broke open. Peering into the looking glass as Colleen and Seamus entered into his quarters, he heaved a sigh.

“I haven’t even had my tea yet. And if I am going to be sitting and getting insulted all day I really need to have some before anything else starts.”

“She’s right, Arthur, what right do you have to do this?” Seamus frowned, crossing his arms over his chest as if to look threatening. Unfortunately for Ireland, who was mimicking something their older brother did when he was nearly at the end of his rope, it didn't quite work for him. For Scotland it looked menacing, but for Seamus it looked downright like a pout.

“I have the right because I am the United Kingdom of Britain and Ireland and honestly I can’t put it off any longer.” He tugged on his tie tightly, flashing a warning glance as the tell tale signs of a shouting match colored Colleen’s cheeks. “The British people were forced under conscription because of the Military Service Act two years ago, you both have been free for two years, but I no longer have the forces to maintain the Western front.”

“You well know Roman Catholics highly oppose-”

“Irish Roman Catholics,” England interrupted Seamus. “Canadian Roman Catholics and even the bloody American Roman Catholics have supported conscription, Seamus. I would be careful before you generalize. Matthew has been in a rather tiff lately and I do not think you would want to upset him at the current time.” He turned from the mirror and smoothed out his vest, before sitting on the small stool in front of the vanity before gesturing to the two chairs sitting adjacent. He needn't have bothered. He knew that they would reject the offer.

“The conscription decree is an oppressive and unjust law,” Seamus snapped.

“And we aren’t having it!” Colleen interjected “The Anti-Conscription Committee as well as the Roman Catholic Bishops are meeting today to discuss it and I am certain that you will not have the answer you seek!” Colleen crowed. “It will resisted by the most effective means at our disposal if consonant with the law of God.”

“Of course.” England crossed his legs, hands folding over his knees. “I am fully aware that you plan to have an anti-conscription pledge made. You don’t think I am fully aware of exactly how this is going to unfold? For the love of the King, don’t you think I have seen enough of this in the past, especially when Henry made the Church of England?” He frowned as the two stiffened.

“We aren’t going to just bend to your will, Arthur. The people won’t have it!” Seamus frowned, his crossed arms tightening.

“Exactly!” Colleen agreed and England sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. If Seamus and Colleen’s outright objection to this on the first day was any sign of how their people felt that meant he was going to be dealing with strikes and walkouts for certain. It was going to be even _more_ of a problem than he had anticipated. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just walk away, there was no real option for him. The tide had indeed begun to turn when America had finally joined the Allied powers, but he still had his own weight to pull.

“I can’t do anything about it at the moment.” England looked up at the two. “The committee won’t even be meeting for a couple of hours yet.How about we put this aside and go have something to eat and a cup of tea?” he offered. He really didn’t want any more fighting. Despite how much he and his siblings disagreed and fought on a regular basis, they were still his siblings.He watched as the angry expressions on the Irish twins faces twitched for a moment before their current hostility lessened, the stiffness in their shoulders relaxing.

“I’m famished,” Colleen muttered looking away “Might as well.”

“As long as you're not cooking,” Seamus snorted.

“You...”

***

_November 3, 1918_

_London, England_

Exhausted.

That was the only way to describe how he felt as the car bumped along the road to the meeting house. Over two thousand people in London alone had died from the Spanish flu in the last five days and he had taken to his personal household on the outskirts where he could sleep in peace and wipe away the fever without being bothered. Yet, the telegram that had come to his office that afternoon was something that could not be ignored. It seemed as if Italy had sent news over the minute it had been finalized.The ‘Armistice of Villa Giusti” document had now ended warfare between Italy and Austria-Hungary. Apparently the Austrian-Hungarian army had been flailing, suffering beneath the weight of battles they could no longer hope to win and had sought out a truce with Italy yet refused to sign an armistice. At this, Italy had continued his push and threatened to break off negotiations. Austria and Hungary had been forced to agree and a cease fire had commenced.

England’s hands clenched the paper tightly. Hopefully, this was a sign.

***

_November 11, 1918_

_Train car outside of Campiègne, France_

“This is a mess,” England hissed into France’s ear as they crammed themselves into a small corner of the railcar, their delegates sitting around a small table, glancing warily at each other. Germany stood in the corner opposite them, his eyes bloodshot, jaw clenched. The armistice that was to be signed was the consequence of a rushed and edgy process. The German appointment headed by Matthias Erzberger crossed the forefront in five rail cars and had been escorted for ten hours over the crushed battle region of northern France, landing on the morning of the eighth of November. They were then taken to the shrouded location on board Ferdinand Foch's private car and had stopped on the tracks in the woods of Compiègne.

“Ludwig and his cabinet have no option but to sign. They can argue for the lessening of restrictions on their submarine decomissons, but that is the only leeway they can ask for. They deserve everything that they have coming to them,” France muttered, lifting the corner of the thick curtain over the window. The line of his mouth tightened as he peered outside, it was a disaster.Destroyed by the war. It was nearing upon five in the morning. “I have no more sympathy for him, as he showed that he had no sympathy for me.”

“It is long time for this to be over.” England thought back to the bombs that had been dropped on London and all over his countryside. It was disgusting. He glanced at yesterday’s paper laying on the table. While the German delegates had stalled, France had thrown the Paris Sunday paper at them that stated in bold print that the Kaiser had abdicated. In no more than a few hours later, the delegates had received word that they were to sign the armistice even if they couldn’t get any better leniency from the Allied side. 

“To think it’s over like this. So much destruction stopped by some ink on paper. It never fails to anger me,” Belgium's voice interrupted as she joined them in the their corner. She had been standing in her own, not truly part of the negotiations, but had demanded that she be here to watch Germany's fall.

“Laura,” England nodded in her direction, his arms unable to move from their crossed position.

“Despite Germany exhibiting triumph on the eastern front after the Russian Revolution, the military high charge failed to keep the procedure, both locally and outside.”

“Despite trading veteran troops from the eastern front to fight on the western front, it was a mistake. Germany’s new government has no choice but to agree to the terms.” Belgium frowned, hands fisting in her skirts with frustration.

“Do not worry. They are also agreeing to the Occupation of Rhineland,” France pointed out.

“This includes that he tolerates that the best of the troops possess the left bank of the Rhine and four right bank "bridgeheads" with 30 kilometers range around Cologne, Koblenz, Mainz and ten kilometers sweeping around Kehl. Then, the left bank of the Rhine and a 50 kilometers wide strip east of the Rhine are pronounced neutral,” England detailed and Belgium stared at him.

“What troops, Arthur?”

“English, French, Belgian...” he paused, looking through the crowd and setting eyes on a delegation that didn’t look completely satisfied even though they’d won. “And American.”

***

_January 18, 1919_

_The Paris Peace Conference (Versailles Peace Conference)_

_Paris, France_

“League of Nations, Treaty of Versailles, Treaty of Saint-Germain-en-Laye,  
Treaty of Neuilly-sur-Seine, Treaty of Trianon, Treaty of Sèvres...” England read over the list that he had unfolded from his pocket as he stood in the back of the conference room.

“Did you really try to make an itinerary for this conference?” France peered over his shoulder, and quickly stepped back as England jabbed at him with his elbow, holding two wine glasses aloft.

“It is a list of things that are supposed to be the main treaties. There are thirty-two nations represented here.” England gestured to the mass of men crammed into the large conference room, many of them being hovered over by their personified nations. “It will be a miracle in itself if things don't start to get out of hand with all of the agendas and goals.”

“Such as your own?” France offered him one of the glasses which England took gratefully.

“Of course I have my own list of requirements.” England sniffed and France shook his head.

“And you promised to tell me what they were when we finally got this far.”

“Ensuring the security of France, removing the threat of the German High Seas Fleet, settling territorial contentions, supporting the League of Nations. In that order of priority.” England ticked off his fingers with flourish. He was prepared as a gentleman should be. A slender blond brow was arched as he finished.

“Really you are completely behind America’s president’s proposal?”

“Of course adjustments to President Wilson’s idea will need to be met. That is why we all have met formally over one hundred and forty times before this day,” England said flatly. It had been a tedious process and one that he was glad to see come to an end.

Appearing in the room, America made a beeline for them, looking far too cheerful for the proceedings. It made England suspicious. “So, I need to talk to you for a second.” When England opened his mouth to protest that they couldn’t walk out now, America added, “Both of you.” He took France and England by the arm and propelled them into a side room, pulling the door shut behind them. “My boss is still not happy with what’s in the treaty. I’m not happy with it. I don’t think you should be so hard on Germany.”

“Excuse me!” England snapped and France echoed the sentiment, murder appearing in his blue eyes.

America didn’t show any signs of being put off. “It’s not like he’s not already defeated and shamed. I don’t see why you guys want to throw salt on the wound by taking all of his overseas possessions and demanding so much money. I’ve been trying to talk to Japan about the Pacific, but he’s being weird about it... so I thought I’d talk to you. How is he supposed to pay you back when you take everything he’s got?”

“Maybe he should have thought about that before he killed so many of our men!” France shot back.

“You make it sound like you didn’t fire a shot back.” America crossed his arms. “My boss wants peace and he doesn’t like the way you two are going about it. It’s gonna be a hard sell back home.”

“And are you going to seriously act like you don’t remember Victoria Station,” England said quietly, staring at the other.

“I’m not saying that we should forget. Just forgive. How are we supposed to make things better if we’re not, well, making things better?”

“Shut up, Alfred.” England frowned, shrugging France’s arm from his shoulder as the man touched it. “When you’ve been attacked on your own soil then you’ll know what it’s like. You don’t know what you’re talking about right now. Maybe when you have a few more centuries.”

Hurt flashed across America’s face and he turned his back on them for a moment. “I know what it’s like to be burned by you, Arthur. Literally.” He ran a hand through his hair and turned back. “I’m not a little kid anymore. With the Fourteen Points... things could get better. It’s just calling for a just peace. What’s being proposed out there? It’s not just. It’s not fair.”

England shook his head, waving his hands as if dismissal. “I need another drink. Excuse me,” he muttered and turned from the pair and squeezing in between delegates to leave.

“Arthur!” America followed him through the crowd, leaving France behind.

Knocking on one of the doors out of the elaborate room, England stepped out into the hall, taking a deep breath of fresh air. It was too crowded in there. He pulled the flask from his suit jacket. He needed something more than just France’s wine.

The noise from the room diminished as the door was pulled closed. “I know you’re mad about what happened, but you do see what I’m saying, right?” America asked.

England shot him a dirty look as he lowered the flask.“I came out here for a respite from this shit.”

“And I’m trying to do that.” America let out a breath. “Do you really think it’ll all end here? Romano and Feliciano are our allies and they don’t like the treaty either.”

“Alfred, stop talking!” England hissed, opening one of the doors into another room and peeking inside to check if it was empty before stepping inside and rubbing at his temple. America followed him. Before England had a chance to turn around and say anything, America had wrapped his arms around him, pulling him back against his chest. “Alfred...” England sighed “You can start blathering at me again when we go back in, but I don't need it here.”

“Okay, take a deep breath. At least we’re not trying to make a deal with each other this time,” America joked, giving England a little squeeze.

England leans back against him with a small sigh. “Alfred,” he warned.

“Arthur.” America replied, mimicking the tone. He pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “When this is all over you should come stay at my place. I’ve hidden some good booze in some of my houses, Prohibition passed, but I don’t really care right now.”

“Or we could drink in the open at mine,” England countered.

“I’ve got better places to hide. We could get really drunk and no one would bother us.”

England rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“You saying that doesn’t sound good right now?” America nuzzled the back of his head.

“There are many things that sound good." England sighed softly taking a drink from his flask. America hooked his fingers under England’s chin and turned his head. He kissed him gently.

“We should probably go back.”

“You can if you would like. I need a few minutes. The rest of the delegates are still arriving.”

“I don’t want to. No one wants to listen to me, I’d rather have you not listen to me in here.” He kissed him on the cheek.

“You are very touchy today," he murmured, hiding his pleasure.

“You could be too.” He drew England into another kiss.

“We don't have that kind of time,” England murmured.

“Just kiss me until we have to go back to disagreeing.”

“You selfish little-" He turned in America’s arms and kissed him back until there was a knock on the door.

“Meeting is, like, ready!” Poland's voice sounded shrill through the door.

America gripped the back of England’s head for just another moment to finish the kiss. He drew back slowly. “I guess that’s our cue.”

“I warned you." He shook his head and lifted the flask to his lips once more. “You go first.”

“See you in there.” America reluctantly released him, backing towards the door. He winked at him and pulled the door open. “I’m coming. Can’t really do much without me.”

***

“At least I know that Irish Nationalists delegates here won't have any foothold,” England muttured to Poland and Italy as delegates from the Czechoslovakia, Romania, Yugoslavia, Greece, Austria, Hungary, Bulgaria, and later by Latvia, Estonia, and Lithuania stepped forward with their delegates to sign a minority rights agreements. This had been one of the high points that President Wilson had been pushing for.

“Ve~that would explain why neither Colleen nor Seamus are here, huh?” The bouncy brunette peered around them.

“Yes, it was seen as a highly inappropriate time to bring it up and when they were told such. Then Francis received a letter and the reply was ignored.” England shook his head. “After that I was even more uncertain about letting Canada have a seat. America agreed with me on that point, yet when Canada’s prime minister pointed out that he had lost more than even America had as an entire nation that I had to agree. Then I had to spent months convincing America that it was the right thing to do. He was staunchly against his brother being here. But finally he relented, begrudgingly so.”

England looked to where Canada sat amongst India, Australia, Newfoundland, New Zealand and South Africa. Many of them were whispering to each other and England was sure he knew what about. Out of all of the nations whose ideas were represented here, the only nation to not actually be present was Japan. Japan had been arguing for more equal treatment for non-European members of the potential League of Nations. Australia was the most adamantly against it, his Prime Minister making no concessions. That falling out hadn’t been pretty and it gave England a headache. He couldn’t support it and hold his empire together. He frowned.

America came back into the room, a telegram in his hand and threw a glance at the Dominions talking amongst themselves. “Are they still mad about the League of Nations? I thought it was a pretty sharp idea.” He tucked the telegram into his pocket.

England shrugged his shoulder. “Probably not. There are plenty of things to be troubled about.”

“That’s good that they aren’t mad. It’s not time to sign the big treaty yet, right?”

“No, but you would know that if you had stuck around and worked with the rest of us.”

“I had to talk to some folks back home. There’s been some developments.”

“About what?” Italy butted in.

“Some stuff with Congress.”

“You are going to bring up ‘developments’ and then not like share. That’s totally not how it works,” Poland chimed in.

America looked at them. “I need to talk to the rest of the Big Four.” He looked away from Poland to Italy, England, and waved at France to come over.

“Totally rude." Poland spun away, not bothering to hide his lack of glee that he was now free to go with Lithuania.

“What is this about, Alfred?” England frowned.

America waited a second, until France appeared looking confused. “Congress won’t ratify the treaty as it stands right now. They want things adjusted,” he said. “So, we gotta tweak some of the articles.”

“We are so close to being done with this!” France barked, face lighting with anger.

“Are you serious!?” England scowled as Italy sat on the floor with his head down dramatically.

“That’s what they said.” He pulled out the telegram and held it up. “Some of the senators don’t like the League of Nations.”

“This is ridiculous!” England snapped. “ _You_ proposed it! What more could they want!?”

“Mr. Wilson, he’s ill and he can’t defend his decisions to them. They’re not keen on the idea that there would be a group of nations that might be able to tell us what to do. We’ve got to change Title X, I need an exception.”

“Of course you do. Always the bloody exception." England sighed placing his head in his hands, as France swore a particularly artful string of French..

“Hey, I’m not happy about the changes you three made. Feliciano you weren’t even here for 11 days during the first conversation.”

“Honestly.” England dragged his hand through his hair. “This is going to take so long...”

“This ain’t my first rodeo. Isn’t it always like this? And there’s more fingers in this pie than ever before.”

“Dammit, Alfred." England sighed and before anything else could be said noise from the main table erupted. It seemed that a fight was breaking out.

They hurried into the fray, although America was the most instrumental in breaking it up. “Maybe we should call it a day?” he announced, grumbles sounding through the room.

***

“This is ridiculous.” England allowed France’s servants to whisk away his clothes as he changed in the personal quarters that had been offered to him. Tying the knot of the robe about his waist he was glad that he adopted to dine alone rather than join the what was certain to be a rather tense dinner. And that meant he didn't have to share his decanter.

“Has Europe ever gotten along?” America asked, his voice sounding from the parlor, the door slamming shut behind him.

“Don't act like you get along with everyone, Alfred." England frowned coming into the parlor.

“Yeah, but I only have two neighbors. And I get along with Matt and sometimes with Alejandro.” He began loosening his tie. “Those guys act like they have to argue in order to breathe.”

“Two is a lot easier to deal with than over fifty. And anyways, I am surprised that you are here when you could be talking with other nations and making more of a presence for yourself, especially at this type of gathering. I mean you only have one permanent enemy thus far.” England picked a small chocolate off of a platter of sweets that Francis had specifically ordered to his room for him. Popping it into his mouth, it was followed by two more.

“They can’t hear me over ancient grudges. The only time I get a word in edgewise is when they remember that I’ve got money. I don’t feel like flashing gold right now.” America dropped into one of the chairs. “And what enemy?”

Swallowing England grabbed another two. “Vicente, remember?” He bit into one of them with a noise of approval.

“That’s just personal, not political. It’s not like he could declare war on me.” America reached down to unlace his shoes and kicked them off.

“A proper duel would be interesting at least.” He picked another two before moving over to the chaise.

“I think duels are firmly out of fashion.” America leaned back in his seat. “You gonna share some of that with me?”

“You telling me your room didn't have its own chocolates?” He popped it into his mouth.

“I didn’t stop at my room.”

“Well, that is your downfall." He sat on the edge of the chaise. America reached over, catching hold of England’s arm and tugging him towards him.

“You could share. I’ll pay you back sometime.”

“Mmm, I think not.” He grinned settling onto the couch cushion. “I am guessing you avoided the dinner, too.”

“I got through part of it, then found an excuse to leave. I don’t know if anyone’s actually gonna make it through.”

“It’s why I didn't bother. I just came straight here and changed. And had my supper brought up. Much more comfortable and, of course, no one is stupid enough to question my decisions.”

“I’m questioning them. Why didn’t you invite me?” He reached over and ran his fingers along the neck of England’s robe.

“With the panic that you had in regards to others thinking that you were on your back for your previous Empire, you really think that I would have proposed such an idea and have you go off on me?”

“Things are gonna be different now. I’m a world power today. I wasn’t one last year. If I were to walk away, everyone would be asking me back.” He hooked his fingers into the robe, pulling England a little closer.

“Really now?” England arched a brow and crossed his arms. “Cocksure aren’t you?”

“You don’t think it’s true?”

“There’s a lot of things, I think are true." He leaned back on his hands to peer at him. “You can share my sweets if you go get the tray.”

America released him, getting up to get the chocolates and bringing them back. He plucked one up and put it in his mouth.

“See, this is the real reason you came to my rooms. I knew it, it's because you knew that I would have sweets. It's a good thing I ate the Turkish delight before you got here.”

“You’re right it was all about this. I can’t believe you didn’t save me some.” He gave him a teasing grin.

“I know your true intentions, Alfred. The rest of it's all a mask, all a front.” He shook his head as if traumatized by the words coming out of his mouth. Reaching up, he grabbed two more of the chocolates and popped them into his mouth in quick succession, chewing them slowly as to properly savor them.

“You know me, I just want it all.” He picked up another one of the candies and put it in his mouth. He licked his lips. “That one sure was good. You’ve got something.” He cupped England’s cheek, smoothing his thumb at the corner of England’s mouth.

“I've become messy it seems," England said lowly, eyeing America. “Maybe I've had more to drink than I thought.”

“Or maybe it was strategic. To get me to do this.” He leaned forward, brushing his lips against the spot.

“What an accusation, are you calling me devious?” England and turned his head slightly to accept the kiss from the younger blond before turning back to place a chaste one of his own against Alfred's mouth. He leaned back slightly as the other tried to further the kiss only to lean back in again and place another soft one. Repeating the action three times before leaning back completely.

America followed, settling over him on the couch. “Is it an accusation when it’s true?” He pressed a kiss beneath his jaw.

“Yes, although yours proved false." England looked up at him.

Leaning up on his elbows, America looked back. “How so?”

“It was completely unintentional.” England shrugged, reaching over to snag another from the tray. Chocolate and brandy for dinner was perfect. He would either become drunk on one or the other.

“Well, maybe we could find some intention.” America picked up one of the chocolates and held it to England’s lips.

England eyed him for a moment before taking it, chewing slowly he relaxed into the cushions before allowing his eyes to slide shut. It had been a long day. America watched him for a moment, before resting against him, settling his head on his shoulder.

England patted his head lazily. “You didn't bring anything to sleep in did you?”

“I thought you would prefer that,” America teased back. “I figured I could give your way a try.”

England hummed. “Smart boy... ‘cause I am exhausted.”

“Yeah, I’m tired too. I’ll keep you warm.”

“You know that you have to move for that to happen." He gestured to the bedroom. America pushed up, climbing off him and offering him a hand.

England waved his hand away. “I don't feel like walking.”

America smiled. “All right.” He bent over him and hooked his arms under his back and legs, scooping him up. “Better?”

“Manhandling,” England protested half heartedly, but made no other protests as he wrapped his arms around America’s neck. After all, the war was nearly over. Peace could be made tomorrow. But he was afraid to say it out loud, to jinx it. Then again, with peace came America’s departure. Not that he would miss him. He knew it was a lie.

“You know you like it.” Carrying him to the bed, America settled him on it, then climbed up beside him. He pushed into England’s arms and lay nose to nose with him, letting his eyes slide closed behind his crooked glasses.

“You’ve been wearing those clothes in a hot and sweaty room all day long you're going to make the clean sheets filthy. Take them off and take off your glasses before you damage them,” England scolded.

“Fine, fine.” He got up, dropping his glasses on the bedside table and pulling off his clothes one by one. He came back, sliding between the sheets and pressing up against England’s side.

“Much better.” England sighed, dragging a finger over America's shoulder blades. “You have put on some weight...”

“Have not,” America muttered.

England reached over and pinched the excess fat on the other’s hips. “What was that?”

“It’s from the winter.”

“The winter has just started.” England laughed loudly. “It’s because your country is entering a period of overindulgence.”

“That’s why you should come spend some time with me. I’ll show you how to have fun.” He pressed a kiss on England’s throat.

“Yes, the black market drug dealers have been very excited about their shipments to the colonies."

“Focus on one thing why don’t you? The cops are working on that. I meant like dancing and stuff.”

“...Oh, they are? Well that's... I have my own." He shrugged. “Dancing sounds delightful. Some days I wondered if anyone would dance again.”

“I’ve got some good records. Will you dance with me?” America took England’s hand and threaded his fingers between England’s.

“It has been awhile since I've been to a club... and if everyone is high as a kite then certainly no one will care.”

“There are certainly places where no one will care.”

“Perfect,” England murmured, tugging at the belt of his robe. Where it was tied was digging into his hip. Unknotting it, he heaved a sigh of relief that was quickly followed by a yawn. America hooked his arms around England’s body underneath the robe. He smoothed his hands over his back.

“Good night?”

“Let us, hope," England murmured patting America’s head on his shoulder. The boy still slept like he did as a colony. “‘Lil American,” he murmured, the last syllable fading away. America snuggled against him, his own breath evening out into sleep.

***

_July 18th, 1919_

_London, England_

_Buckingham Palace_

He no longer suffered as long when it came to his July sickness and since the war had technically ended back last year, there was nothing slowing down or adding to his July predicament. England sat on the overstuffed chaise in his parlor as tea was brought in on clinking china and he poured over the _London Times_. The city was awash in excitement, tomorrow was Peace Day. They were going to celebrate to the end of the Great War and look towards a horizon of possible forever peace.

England's foot bounced as he poured over the latest announcements of Lords & Ladies engagements and events, his house slipper making a soft sliding sound as it reconnected with the floor when he put his foot down to take the cup of tea being offered to him. The morning was slow and he had no plans until mid-afternoon when he was going to pitch in his opinion on the last set of floats to be put in parade line. At least, that had been the goal, for just over an hour ago England had been awoken by The zing that zipped over his spine, letting him know another nation had stepped onto his soil. It's why his current breakfast tray was so large, looking to feed two people rather than one.

On the 6th of July, when England had finally come out of his sick room, George had come to his chambers to let him know that America had made an attempt to come and visit and had been promptly asked to delay his visit until much later. Then his secretary admitted a point to invite the younger Nation to come to London's peace celebration. It was a very political move and England was thankful for such a guide.

The parlor was well-lit as the drapery had been pulled aside to allow the hot July sunshine pour in and warm the walls and tile. It wouldn't be long before they were drawn once more to help keep the heat out of the castle. England pushed his reading frames up his nose as he turned the next page of the paper. England wouldn't have many more moments of tranquility such as this for the next couple of days as America was due to arrive in the palace any moment.

The knock on his door came midway through a second cup of tea. “The United States of America has arrived, m’ lord,” said his manservant.

“Well, well, the boy has gained some etiquette. Let him in,” England called. Finally, the food was getting cold.

“Not too much, you’ve just gotten better guards,” America teased, walking into the room and dropping into the chair across from England’s. “Is this for me?”

“One of them is, yes. I figured it would be the polite thing to wait for my unexpected guest to arrive before I ate breakfast.”

“Am I that unexpected? I mean, the treaty isn’t ratified yet, but it doesn’t mean I can’t celebrate while the politicians hammer out the rest of the details.”

“Not truly unexpected”England grabbed a piece of toast and ladened it with jam, the bread sagging in protest. America hummed, plucking up his own piece of bread and spreading butter all over the top.

“So, I take it you have accepted the invitation to go to the Festival tomorrow.”

“Yes, I was planning on accompanying you.” He stuffed half the piece of toast in his mouth.

“Manners." England rolled his eyes. “It should be a good show. People are very excited. There has been a doubling of efforts to fix the last of the bombing damage.”

“You do look like you’re getting back into shape. You don’t look as tired.” America leaned back in his seat, looking England over.

“I had several days of... rest.” England chose the word carefully, grabbing a new piece of toast and jam. “It helped.”

America was quiet. “I forgot.”

England merely shrugged at him, not wanting to discuss it. He chose instead to take a large bite of toast and refill his teacup. This was not an argument to start now of all days. America scooted his chair over so that he was closer to England. He reached over and lay his fingers on his arm. “You really are looking good.” He smiled at him.

“Do stop the bland flirtations, Alfred.” England gave him a flat look. “I do think you’ve gotten worse at them.”

“I’ll break out better ones later. But for now...” He leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Actions speak louder than words. I heard this was gonna be a really good time.”

“The parades don’t start till tomorrow,” he leaned back, crossing his legs and he nursed his steaming cup. “I had plans for a bath this morning. Then maybe a ride this afternoon after popping in on last minute float preparations.”

“I’m in,” America said, plucking up a piece of bacon and dropping it in his mouth.

“Oh are you?” He arched a brow. “Well, I guess that you could use a freshening up.”

“I could use a lot of things.” America grinned at him.

“Of course.” England rolled his eyes again. “Many things.” He eyed him for a moment before shaking his head.

“What?” America chuckled.

“You are in a good mood,” England said, suspicious. “And acting very... calm.”

“Why wouldn’t I be in a good mood?”

“I... no.” England shook his head. “Ignore me.” He turned his attentions to his cup of tea.

“I came all this way to see you. I’m not ignoring you. We’re celebrating the end of all wars tomorrow, it’s gonna be great.”

“I never said you were ignoring me,” England huffed and finished his tea, setting it down and getting to his feet in one movement.

America stood up, too. “You told me to ignore you, I’m not going to do that.”

“I meant ignore that statement,” he said flatly. America walked over to him, leaning down to look in his eyes.

“You can compliment me more if you want. I’d like that.”

“When did I compliment you?” England frowned and shrugged out of his robe, letting it drop onto the couch. His orders had been to start the bath once America had arrived. It would be full by now.

“You said I was in a good mood and calm. You could tell me more about how good I look or something.” He followed England towards the bathroom.

“Fishing for compliments is unsightly.” England frowned over his shoulder as he entered the steamy room. Walking over to the large bath, he lifted one foot after the other as he stepped into the water.

America sighed and began undressing so that he could join him. He splashed down into the water, sending some of it over the edge. “Don’t make me fish then.”

“I'm not making you do anything.” England scowled. “I take back the good mood comment.”

America smiled at him. “Fine, you don’t have to. But come over here and greet me properly.” He held out his hands towards him.

England gave him a deadpan look before thrusting his hand forward for a shake. “Jolly good to see you again, Master Jones. You're looking rather well.”

Laughing, America pulled him across the tub. “Golly, Mr. Kirkland, I sure am pleased to be here.” He pulled him into his arms.

“It’s Lord Kirkland, you tit,” England snapped, slapping at his chest.

Grinning, America pulled him even closer. “Hmmm, _Lord_ Kirkland. Your bathtub is bigger than the last time I was here.”

“I had a new one put in." England sniffed, draping his arms over the others shoulders lazily. The room was warm and they had no real timeline for the day. It was nice. He eyed the washcloth that America grabbed off the tray and dipped into the water. It didn't take long before America was stealing a quick kiss and England couldn't help the hum as the boy ran the cloth over his back, the suds surely leaving a trail. “Reminds me of New York... after the accident.” The words came from his mouth as the memory of that shower floated to the front of his mind.

“We survived another one didn’t we?” America said, running the cloth over England’s shoulders.

“Except this wasn't an accident.”

“I suppose not. It’s over now though.” He pressed a kiss to England’s forehead. “When we were together in New York after the Titanic... I was grateful.”

“Grateful for what?” England frowned in confusion.

“That you were there with me.” He let England turn in his arms so that he could hide his face. “I guess that’s too much honesty this morning?”

England stared at the suds that had formed across the top of the water like clouds. He swallowed before relaxing completely against the American, dropping his head back on America's shoulder. “At least it's over.”

“Let’s not do it again soon, okay?” Tipping England’s head back, America poured water over his hair so he could wash it.

“That would be nice,” he murmured. America made a sound of agreement as he combed his fingers through England’s hair, sliding down his neck to rub at the stiff muscles.

“Oh my goodness,” he sighed, his posture suffering as he leaned into the touch, eyes drooping. America continued, adjusting to every little sound that England made, scooping up water to rinse off his skin. As England relaxed against him, America rested his chin on his shoulder, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“If you had plans to derail my plans today I feel like you may have succeeded,” he murmured.

“Plans change all the time,” America mumbled back, sinking down into the water a little more.

“Yes, they certainly do." England traced the knuckles of Americas hands before dropping them down to America’s thighs which encased him.

“What are your plans now?”

“What do you think they should be?" He traced nonsense patterns on the naked skin, a grin making its way onto his face.

“Enjoy this bath until the water gets cold.” America brushed his fingers across England’s stomach.

“Sitting and lazing around sounds like a plan if you like," he drawled.

“Well, if you’re there with me.” He leaned forward, pressing his chest against England’s back and gathering him closer to his body. England couldn’t help but smile as the smoothing of his fingers on the inside of America’s thigh were doing their work. America pushed his nose into England’s damp hair. “Unless you’ve got other ideas?”

“I'm just the gracious host," England purred, drawing his fingers over America's knee caps before moving down again.”I should show you around the float yard.”

“Hmmm, maybe later,” America said, pressing his fingers into England’s hip.

“All right," he hummed “What then?” He grinned.

“Turn around and I’ll show you.”

Arching a brow England turned to peer at him. “Oh, really?”

America grinned at him, taking his chin in his fingers bringing him in for a heated kiss.

After several moments, England managed to gasp, “Yes, I think that's doable!”

“Just doable?” America said, lifting England up so that he could resettle him so they could be face to face. The water sloshed in the tub. He didn’t let England reply, pulling him back into another kiss.

Hands weaving into his hair, England kissed him hard, forcing the other’s head back so he could lean over the other in a move of dominance. America took hold of England’s waist, fingers pressing in hard, he pushed back against the kiss, not letting England take control.

“Brat," England hissed yanking on his hair. “Test me.”

America pinched his hip, then smoothed his fingers over the spot. “Bring it on, Arthur.”

Grabbing his hair, he yanked the other’s head back to bite at his throat hard. America gasped, not expecting the sudden action. He tangled his fingers in England’s hair, pulling him back slightly and grazing his teeth along the shell of his ear.

“Bed now!” he snarled.

“You gonna make it that far?” Tightening one arm around England’s waist, America stood, steadying them until they were out of the water. Water dripped off their skin onto the tile.

England's temper flared. “Do you want me to look elsewhere!?”

“You don’t want someone else.” He carried him out of the bathroom, practically tossing him onto the bed. He climbed up on top of him. “You’ve got me.”

“If you stop talking and start moving,” England growled, yanking America down into a harsh kiss.

America kissed him back, catching England’s wrists when he dug his fingers into him and pushing his arms against the blankets. He broke free from England’s mouth and began pressing his lips to his throat. He teased the skin where England’s neck met his shoulder.

“You arse,” England hissed brokenly. Eyes fluttering shut before snapping open again. “On your back.”

“Make me.” The playful challenge was evident in his voice as he continued to press England into the sheets, moving down his chest.

With a snarl, England worked his legs up, feet planting on the others hips and shoved as hard as he could upwards. America barely budged, but he leaned back, pulling England up with him. England’s feet slipped and it left him in the position of straddling America’s legs. America gave a gentle kiss to the corner of England’s mouth, a juxtaposition to the hard grip he still had on his wrists.

“Let go so I can move.”

“I believe there’s a piece of etiquette that you drilled into my head at the end of that sentence.” America brought England’s hands against his chest.

“And I believe that if you want anything you better let go," England challenged.

America pulled back just slightly, considering him. “I suppose my hands are better served elsewhere anyway.” He let go so abruptly that England nearly lost his balance from pulling away. America caught him with two strong hands on his thighs.

“You are an ass!” England hissed, slapping at his chest.

America leaned back onto the pillows, peering up at him. “Yep, my hands are much better off down here.” He slid his hands up England’s thighs. “Speaking of ass...” He squeezed.

With a yelp England swatted at his hands before yanking the other into a kiss. “Later,” he murmured.

America made an indistinct noise against his lips as he gave England an inch in their game, hands softening on his skin. Kissing America softly, England ran his nails over the man's scalp with a hum.

“Alfred...” he hummed. Sliding his hands, up England’s back, America held him in his arms, pressing his hips against England’s. “You are such a needy guest,” England drawled.

***

England watched the large smoke rings drifting through the air before sending smaller ones through their centers with ease. “You have a tendency to make me late for almost everything,” he bemoaned, popping his back as he rolled onto his belly atop the crumpled blankets. He stared at the younger male who slept beside him, face clear of any tension or regard for the world. He was always so care free, loud and pushy, and blundered in without thinking twice. England shook his head in exasperation as the other blinked away to look at him. “Have a nice nap?”

America stretched, a sleepy smile sliding onto his face. “Yes, you?”

“Yes, briefly.” He blew a smoke ring above the other’s head. Looking at him, America tilted his head, reaching over to brush his fingers over England’s cheek.

“What is it?”

“Just looking at you.”

England scowled. “Whatever for?”

“Because I can.”

England sighed and shook his head, going back to smoking. “Honestly.” He stared at the intricate design of the wood in the headboard before shaking his head again. It was like he was being hit by a car, the urge so strong in his chest. Eyes flicking to America, he barely registered dropping the cigarette into the ashtray before he was stealing a kiss, pulling the other halfway beneath him. Cupping America’s cheek he kissed him deeply, heart pounding in his chest from the surge of affection racing its way through his veins. America was here with him, reaching out for him, no one else. It hurt. Hurt so bad. The affection was so strong, England couldn't breath. What the hell was this? He could feel the tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. Why? It made no sense.

America wrapped one of his arms loosely around him, fingers moving up and down his spine gently. It was like he was tracing him, memorizing each line. His fingers moved across the newest scar, the marks left behind by the Great War. He lay his hand over the lines, so like the trenches. The kisses turned sweeter, as though he could draw England into him and keep him safe.

Pulling back, England pressed his forehead against America's, taking a deep breath before exhaling slowly. Leaning fully against the other, he savored the quiet moment. No bombs dropping, no planning committees. Nothing.

Letting his eyes drift shut, America just kept him there gently in his arms. He cupped his cheek. “I...”

“You can't be hungry already.”

“No, I just want to stay like this. It feels good.” England hummed, pulling away slightly to lay his head down on America's shoulder. Cradling him against his body, America pressed his lips to England’s forehead, breath evening back out into sleep.

***

_July 19, 1919_

_London, England_

He had thought ahead. When he had learned that America would be visiting for the Peace Day parades he had made sure to contact the president's wife and have everything set up and be sent overin advance. The fact that America had yet to say anything was exactly how England had expected it to play out. The boy had had no intentions to wear his formal military uniform, with all of its medals, badges and such. So England had made sure to have it sent separately so that the American would be dressed appropriately for the event.

England had woken before America and had slipped out of his bed and into the adjacent room where he was to be dressed. America's uniform hung on a hanger over-the-door of England's closet, waiting for its owner. Noise from the main bedroom let England know that America was waking up and realizing that he had been the left alone in the bed.

Appearing in the doorway, sleep pants pulled on, America rubbed at his hair and squinted at England for a moment, before sliding his glasses onto his nose. “What’s that?” he asked.

England looked down at himself with a frown of confusion “My dress uniform of course.”

“No, not you.” He walked around him, to the open closet door. “This one is the really fancy one.” He plucked at the cuff.

“That is yours”

“I can see that.” America smiled.

“Well, that's good because you need to put it on.”

“I thought it was just a party.” America disappeared into the bathroom, the water splashing into the sink.

“It’s a whole festival, Alfred.”

He came back, towel rubbing over his face. “You really want me dressed up like that?”

“We will be standing with the King to open the event.”

The cloth dropped away, wide blue eyes looked at him. “You want me up there with you?”

England's cheeks darkened, eyes darting away. “You were an ally, that would be most appropriate wouldn't it?”

“Is everyone gonna be up there?”

“All the Allied powers?”

“Yeah.” America reached for his clothes.

England's response was delayed but he shook his head, straightening a ribbon. “No.”

“I see.” He began pulling on the pieces. “So you think the green is better than the blue? I never asked you.” He shrugged into his jacket.

England looked at him sharply. “What is the matter with you, Alfred?”

“It was an honest question. The army guys decided to get rid of the dress blues. I was used to it.” He buttoned his coat. “I do like your new uniform.” He smiled at him.

England eyed him suspiciously. “If you are going to be angry now is the time to do so.”

Walking over, America tipped his fingers beneath England’s chin. “You could have just told me you wanted me standing next to you like this. You didn’t have to sneak around.”

England scowled, looking everywhere but at him. “I did not sneak around. I directly reached out to your First Lady.”

“And what did Mrs. Wilson think of all this?” He stepped closer to England and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“She approved," England muttered, smoothing out wrinkles in America’s jacket.

“I guess if it’s for world peace.” America tilted England’s face up and kissed him. “Let’s go, we’ve got a party to attend.”

“So hasty," England murmured, pulling him into a deeper kiss as another thought sprung into his mind.

“You’re usually blaming me for making you late,” America whispered against his lips.

“Because you do. And probably are going to." England's pulled back, eyes flicking over America's uniform. “It fits well…”

He grinned. “Looks sharp, huh?”

“Very much so," England agreed, smoothing his hands down the front of his jacket to his belt. America preferred to wear the army uniform as of late and England had a tendency to lean towards it as well. Although, since his first battle in the war had been on the water he had chosen his royal navy uniform.

“What are you doing?” America rested his hands on England’s waist.

“Calculating time,” England murmured. They weren't pressed for time yet. He had woken up naturally that morning, although unnaturally early. America hadn't even realized it yet. The breakfast cart hadn't even arrived.

“That so?” America ran his fingers between the double row of buttons on England’s coat front.

England hummed. “Yes... maybe time for a ride?” He looked up at the other.

“Wouldn’t we have to change? Horse hair wouldn’t exactly add to the look.” He looked at him innocently.

“We would have to change back of course.” England nodded.

“After we already got spruced up?”

“I guess that is true. I guess we can have an easy morning reading the paper with a cup of tea.” He nodded.

“If there was time for that you should have stayed in bed with me.” He wrapped his arms around England’s shoulders.

“I woke up early and wanted to savor the moment. Maybe I wanted to spend a quiet morning with you?” England sniffed.

“That does sound nice.”

“Good, because I am ravenous” England stepped back. “Let’s go get something to eat shall we?”

***

As arrangements were made for the Victory Parade in London, an enormous military camp grew in Kensington Gardens, with extensive quantities of Allied troops bivouacking there. The number of inhabitants in London swelled, with a huge number of individuals coming into the capital on Friday's trains. Several individuals spent the night in the parks or roads to make sure of a decent place. Ladies hopped over the high divider around the Victoria remembrance gardens and sat there for fifteen or sixteen hours. The scramble for places on the processional course was going all out by six toward the beginning of the day, and by eight o'clock it was difficult to cross Trafalgar Square.

“To these, the sick and wounded who cannot take part in the festival of victory, I send out greetings and bid them good cheer, assuring them that the wounds and scars so honourable in themselves, inspire in the hearts of their fellow countrymen the warmest feelings of gratitude and respect.” King George V stood out on the balcony speaking to the wounded men that filled the streets to watch the peace day parades, surrounded by those who they had fought for.England felt his chest swell with pride as George addressed the crowds in front of them. 

There had been protests to the peace day celebrations. With other battles and wars going on, several individuals had made it very clear that they had no desire to be apart of peace celebrations while there wasn't truly peace all around. It was true that there were some of his men who were still at battle, but it was much less than there had been before and this was to celebrate the end of the Great War.

He wasn’t going to let them ruin this.

***

America stood beside him, watching the crowds. His people had celebrated the end of the war as well, although it wasn’t quite as rambunctious as this was becoming. It was happiness that soldiers had come home from towns big and small across the country. He could feel England’s pride burning through his skin.

As the parade floats began to move down the street England stepped back into the the terrace, grabbing America’s hand and pulling him backwards. George tossed them a glance with an amused smile before turning back towards the front.

“We’re going to miss the parade,” America said, holding England’s fingers tightened.

England gestured to Henry, his head servant, who stood holding two changes of simple clothes.

“Or not.” America grinned and took his set. “Where do we change?”

“Right here" England began to remove his clothes, handing them to a second gentleman who showed up with empty hands. America shook his head in amusement, but began changing as well.

“Do hurry, Alfred," England said as he finished buttoning his shirt and tucking it into his trousers. Grabbing the suspenders he tightened them over his shoulders. Running his hand through his hair he jammed a flat cap onto his head.

“I’m coming.” America shrugged into his jacket and propped a fedora on his head, tipping it forward. “Let’s go.”

Grabbing his hand England yanked him into the deserted hallway outside the terrace and stole an excited kiss before letting go. America could feel the giddiness spilling through the other as he followed him out into the crowd. “Where to first?”

“Here." He gestured to one of the shops were a small family stood on their balcony. The women waved down at them and gestured for them to come up. “We are going to watch the parade from up there with Mr and Mrs. Woolf and their friends there.”

America followed him, greeting the people in the house. They wedged themselves into a corner of the balcony, watching the progress of the event below.

“Oh, you made it Arthur!” The brunette women peeked out from behind her husband with a bright smile.

“Yes, Virginia thanks for inviting us." England grinned, looking back at the street as a particularly rambunctious float came around the corner. In the closeness of the crowd, America rested his hand on the small of England’s back, leaning over the railing to get a closer look. “Look, Alfred” He pointed to one of the leaders. It was a display never observed, with almost 15,000 troops participating in the triumph march, driven by Allied commandants Pershing, leader of the US Expeditionary Force, Foch, and Haig, the British president, who saluted fallen companions. Groups played, and the focal parks of London facilitated exhibitions and engaged the groups.

“Quite a show.” America cheered along with the crowd. England leaned on his elbows to stare at the parade with a grin

“I'm glad you came.”

America grinned, warmth spreading in his chest. “I’m glad you invited me.”

“Events are going to happen all day.”

“I’m along for the ride.”

England peered back at him for a moment before turning his attention back to the parade, a smile on his face. America leaned against him, standing close without notice with all the excitement of the day.

***

“Do you want chips?” England pulled money from his pocket as they crammed their way into a pub.

“How is that even a question?” America replied, squeezing in behind him.

Grunting, England leaned over the counter and managed to catch a waiter’s attention. Sliding funds across the scratched wood he bellowed, “Two ales and two orders of chips my good man!” He grinned as the money was snatched up and quickly replaced by two frothing beverages. England nudged the other towards America.

He held it up so England could tip his glass against his own. “Stay here at the bar or try to find a table?”

“We might as well wait for our chips here.” England gestured to the crowd. “I'm ravenous.”

“Sounds good,” America replied. With his body pressed up against England in the crush, he kept up a good space for England to exist as they sipped at their beers.

Two plates were pushed towards towards them full of hot food and a jar of vinegar. England waved his thanks. “Finally. I'm starving.”

America didn’t answer, mouth already full of food. “These always get better. You’ll have to come have French fries with sandwiches.”

“What’s a French fry?” England’s nose screwed up in distaste. “Sounds awful.”

“These.” America held up one of the pieces of potato. “Have I never ordered you actual chips? We’re doing that next time you come to New York.”

“These are called chips not French fries." England frowned

“A chip is flat and crispy. You’ll like it.”

“You mean a crisp?” England said flatly.

“Nope.” America stuffed more food in his mouth. “My people invented them, that’s what they’re called.”

“They did not." England frowned. “The first time any mention of a crisp came to be was two years ago in an English cookbook.”

“I was a little out of it from my Civil War, but it was the 1850s, New York.”

“There is no true proof of that bollocks story!”

“You can’t prove it didn’t happen.” America smiled at him and stole a piece off England’s plate.

“Oy!” England slapped at his hand. “At least ask first!”

“May I have one?” America gave him a grin.

England scowled at him. “What do I get in return?”

“A promise. For later.”

“What’s a bloody promise going to do me?”

“Let’s just say you’ll find out tonight.”

England stared at him, cheeks turning red. “You little...” He shoved the plate towards America, looking away to hide his face in his mug. America munched on some of the few fried potatoes on his plate.

“Want another beer?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Where to?”

“A local theater troop is supposed to have set up a small stage not to far from here and is going to be putting on small shows all day.”

Finishing off his beer, America began herding England out of the pub.

“Slow down would you?!” England scowled, slapping at the other’s hands in exasperation. As they stepped outside, England put his cap back on as they exchanged one crowd for another. All of London was going to be packed with people all day.

They enjoyed the public displays, the worries of the past several years seeming to fade away. Everything from sweets to loud vendors using the crowds to their benefits. Alcohol was flowing free for any man dressed in uniform. By the time supper had passed. England and America were trudging back to the palace with hot cheeks and exhausted grins.

As soon as they were in England’s rooms, America caught England around the waist and pressed a kiss on him. “Been wanting to do that all day.” England smiled at him tiredly, grabbing his shoulders.

“Really now? All right then”

“You taste like beer.”

“You are the one who kissed me don’t complain.”

“It wasn’t a complaint.” He hooked his arms around England’s waist and hoisted him into his arms. “Today was an awesome day!” He spun them around.

“Alfred!” England yelped, fingers tightening on the boy’s shoulders, legs snapping around him automatically in response before he snorted with laughter. America grinned in response, adjusting his hold on him and kissing the edge of his smile before spinning them around again.

“Alfred, you are going to fall over!”

“Naw.” Then he bumped into the wall with his shoulder. He stumbled a bit until his back hit it. “Oops.”

“Alfred!” England’s hands slammed against the wall as if to stop them from falling any farther. America leaned against the wall, grinning up at England.

“I didn’t let you fall.”

England scowled down at him before pointing down. “No, but you are crushing my feet!”

“Sorry, darling.” America pushed up from the wall, stumbling over towards the sitting couch.

England's fingers curled around Americas suspenders with a hum. “If I remember correctly I am owed.”

“That you are.” America settled him down onto the cushions, leaning over him. He kissed him.

Leaning up into the kiss, England tangled his hands in the other’s hair. America kissed him until his lungs burned, pulling back to catch his breath. The couch was narrow, the two of them barely fitting. America tried to adjust his weight, but missed the cushion and fell onto the floor. He laughed. “I guess I had a few too many.”

England rolled onto his side with a frown. “Oh come off it. Really?”

“We’ve been drinking all day.” America grinned at him from the rug. “Come down here, there’s plenty of room.” He reached up and hooked his fingers in England’s jacket collar, tugging a little.

“You are drunk." England stared down at him for a moment. “Let’s turn in."

“Not that drunk.” America yawned.

England rolled his eyes and got off the couch, stepping over him to head towards the bedroom. “Come on.”

Catching up with him in the bedroom doorway, America caught England around the waist and kissed the back of his neck.

“Alfred.” England laid his hands on America's forearms.

“Hmmm?” America said, resting his chin on England’s shoulder.

“You are drunk. We should turn in.” England peered up at him.

“As long as you’re there.” He made no move to let go, but kept a firm hold on England with one arm as he reached up to loosen his own tie.

“You have to let me go so I can change, Alfred.”

“Fine, but I’ll come find you if you take too long.” He pressed a kiss to England’s cheek, arms loosening. His tie fell onto the floor a moment later.

“We are in my room where the bloody hell would I go?" England frowned, walking over to the basket by his wardrobe. “Make sure you put your clothes in here. Do not make the staff’s job more difficult than it needs to be.”

America shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it towards the basket, making it in. Rolling his eyes, England stripped-down to nothing. Putting his socks in the basket last. Walking over to the bed he pulled the blankets down from the corner, slipping into the right side with a sigh. America finished off his clothes and flopped down onto the bed, crowding into England’s side.

“This bed is absurdly large and yet you still manage to take up all the space.”

“I don’t want space.”

England turned his head to look at him. “I didn’t think that you were that much of a lightweight.”

“Lightweight?”

“Getting sloshed so fast.” England turned on his side, leg slinging over America’s hip as he propped his head in his hand.

“I’m not that drunk. Tipsy.” He ran his fingers up England’s thigh.

“Uh huh." England rolled his eyes.

“How could I prove it?”

“Go to sleep, Alfred.” England stretched out with a groan.

America pushed his face into the crook of England’s shoulder. “Good night.”

“Good night, boy.”

“Not a boy.” America grumbled, drawing England even closer, tangling their legs together.

“Your drinking skills or lack thereof speak differently.” England laughed. America pressed a kiss under his chin.

“Other things say different.”

England snorted. “Really now?”

“You can’t judge me too much, my people have outlawed liquor. However, do you have more booze, _Lord_ Kirkland?”

“Not that you are getting tonight,” England scolded. “I don't want you making a mess.”

“C’mon, we’re celebrating.” He kissed his collar bone.

“You couldn't even lay on the couch!”

“There’s a lot more room in the bed.”

“Out of all things you really want to drink?”

“No, I want you.” America leaned over him, resting on his elbows.

England reached up hands pressed against the younger man’s chest, the pads of his fingers tapping over the smooth skin no longer hidden by clothing. “So needy.”

America’s mouth quirked up on one corner. “You gonna do something about it?”

“I thought it was you that owed me something not the other way around.” America grinned and leaned down, pressing his lips against England’s. He adjusted his weight, freeing his hands to run them over England’s skin. Cheeks, neck, chest, belly.

England laid kisses along America’s jawline,inhaling sharply. His hands dragged down America’s back for purchase, fingers flexing in anticipation. Reaching between them, America took England in hand, mouth finding the other’s to draw him into a kiss.

Back arching sharply, England moaned lowly into America's mouth. Gooseflesh erupting across his skin. “I want you,” America breathed, tangling the fingers of his free hand in England’s hair.

“Well, hurry up," England gasped. Hands knocked together as they reached for the bedside table at once. America’s longer reach got there first, rolling them over so that England was above, thighs stretched to either side of America’s body. His fingers were slick as he touched England, one hand gripping his hip.

“you're going to be sore tomorrow.” England groaned, hands steadying himself on America's chest. “You need to stop,” he gasped.

“Don’t want to stop.”

“If you don't I won’t be able to do anything else." He tensed, swearing.

“C’mon, darling. Any which way.” America hooked his hand behind England’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss. England's fingers dug into the underneath of America’s knees and silenced the other.

***

America pressed his nose against the back of England’s neck, listening to the rise and fall of his chest. England was still asleep, his breath easy. America couldn’t remember the last time he’d stayed warm in his arms, not waking from a nightmare. He had his share of his own. The mud and the guns and the cold. America wrapped his arms tighter around him, wanting to enjoy it as long as it lasted.

***

“Alfred." England's voice was thick with sleep as he turned over in the others embrace, tucking his face into America’s neck with a murmur of contentment. Curling into the heat radiating off of the other, a sigh of happiness escaped him. With Alfred's large frame wrapped around him he felt like he was safe, that no one could hurt him. It was a distinct change from the last five years.

***

“I’ve got you,” America said. He buried his nose in England’s hair. His fingers brushed against the web of new scars. “I lo...” He let the rest of the sentence fade, the words feeling like they could shatter the delicate quiet. Make England pull away

England hummed and kissed his collar bone with another soft sigh. America brought his fingers to England’s cheek, tracing a path down to his jaw, examining his sleeping face.

“Alfred?” England peered up at him tiredly, green eyes blinking slowly.

“Just thinking, you can go back to sleep,” he said, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead.

“You sleep.”

“I will, just rest.” Incoherent mumbles sounded from the older nation as he pressed his nose back into the crook of America’s neck, pliant against the other. The urge to be reckless caught up with him again as he adjusted his hold. The euphoria of it all was too much to bear. “I love you,” he whispered, barely even hearing the words himself.

***

In the back of his mind, England panicked at the words. At least that was what should have happened.It was like some had taken pieces of his memory and pasted them across his mind’s eyes like one of those moving pictures.

_Happy Valentine’s Day._

_England felt his cheeks darken. “You fool. Sappy and foolish.” He stared at the writing a bit longer before closing the letter. “I know I taught you better handwriting than that.” He slipped the letter back into the envelope. Placing it back down on the writing desk he moved back to the bed, dragging his fingers along the rumpled bedding as he looked over the man asleep in the bed. Man. Sliding back under the sheets England looked at the canopy. Man. When had he started thinking of America beneath that label? When had it gone from boy to youth, to man? From colony to foreign power to ally? Rolling onto his side, he looked at America closely. He was persistent he’d give him that. He swallowed, reaching out and tucking a loose hair behind America’s ear, only to watch it fall forward again. Even his hair was rebellious. Pulling his hands to his chest, England rolled onto his back. What now? He was hoping America’s infatuation would have faded out and yet it continued. Rubbing at his cheekbones, he sighed. That stupid feeling was back in his chest. Pulling the blankets up he allowed sleep to take him under._

England’s eyes cracked open, peering straight at America’s throat as the other breathed slowly, the tell tale sign of sleep making its way.It was like his mind was bogged down by an onslaught of memories.

_He didn’t realize how filthy he had felt. A cloth touched his shoulders and England jumped. Opening his eyes, he found America smiling at him with a soapy cloth in hand. Closing his eyes again, he allowed the other to run the cloth over his skin, bruises and all. Down his neck, over his collarbone, shoulders, ankles, his belly, hips, thighs, calves and ankles.Only when the other had soaped him completely did he open his eyes and took the cloth out of Alfred's hand, gesturing for the bar of soap and returned the favor, starting from the ankles up._

_Running the cloth along Alfred’s jaw line he marveled at the simplicity of the situation. To be able to perform such simple tasks after the events of the last couple of days was mind blowing. Fingers threaded with those of this free hands and it was of no surprise to the British man when he was pulled into a soft kiss, water running over them softly._

_It was so simple, quaint and England found himself wishing for it to become a regularity._

England swallowed, eyes drifting shut. Such memories could drag on for hours. Especially when it seemed that the recent memories were so very loud.

_“I’ll be right back.” America pressed a kiss to the back of his neck and disappeared for another moment, the room darkening around them as the lamps were turned down and the candles blown out. Before England’s eyes could adjust to the sudden darkness of the room, he felt America return to the bed as the mattress sank around him and America’s arms wound their way around his waist. While the younger had opted to remain wearing his trousers England had chosen to sleep bare like he normally did. Someday, he would convince the other that it was the best thing._

_England wasn’t sure when they drifted off, only that he woke the next morning nose to nose with America. He examined his face for a moment, thoughts flitting through his head, but none of them landing. He didn’t want to think about what, in that moment, felt like the only right thing in the world. Closing his eyes, he let America’s warmth keep him buffered from it all. He didn’t want to let go._

And then there was that time that America and he had been trapped inside of the palace due to that blizzard that had frozen them into London. He had even invited America into his personal rooms hidden away in the tower.

_Wrinkling his nose, America pushed England further into the mattress and gave him another kiss. Sliding off the cushions, he said, “Let’s get you some tea then.”_

_“Just pull the rope it'll ring and breakfast shall be sent up for us.” England sighed, pulling the blankets higher and rolled onto his belly, staring into the fireplace. Rubbing his fingers together he watched as the fire grew. Perfect. Much warmer. Humming in success, England shifted to get more comfortable._

_Taking care of the bell pull, America picked up his nightshirt and pulled it over his head. He took a seat on the edge of the cushions and stretched out his hands toward the fire._

_Folding his arms, England propped his chin atop them, watching America out of the corner of his eye. If someone had told him fifty years ago that he would be welcoming America into his space, he would have laughed and then stabbed them in the eye. At times, England still had to stop and convince himself that he was not dreaming. And he could not decide which fact was more perturbing. That he allowed his former colony into his bed or that he would dream about such a thing._

To think all of that had happened in just a couple of decades. England’s eyes snapped open and he turned his head to stare up at the ceiling. It was like all of the memories were spilling from a tipped cup. The opium room. The world fair. The gun. The pig. The civil war.The play. California. All of it.

He swallowed thickly. His Kings and Queens had been right. No matter how much longer he wished to deny it. He just couldn’t. It had become as obvious to him as was the need to breath. He swallowed again as his panic turned to excitment. Shit. Shit. He turned back into America’s embrace, pressing his mouth against the younger’s pulse.

Very much here, and very much alive, was the man he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment or a kudo!
> 
> For those of you who may have noticed that we have increased the chapter count for Book 4... we decided to add the 1920s and 1930s to this book as opposed to a standalone or as an intro to Book 5. It fits the overall narrative arc to be with the World War I series of events and we really hope you like the next few developments in the USxUK relationship!


	10. The World Begins to Move Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just a friendly golf game, right?

May 22, 1921

On the Golfing Green...

“C’mon Arthur, you’re not going to prove you’re better at this if you miss the hole again.” He leaned on his club, hat cocked on top of his head.

“Sod off, you prat!” England hissed, whipping around nearly taking America out with his club. America ducked, laughing.

“Hey, that’s against the rules!” As England took another swing at him he easily caught it.

“It’s also against the rules to stand so close!” He bristled.

“I was coming to help you.”

“Who says I need help!?”England scowled, crossing his arms. America held up his hands.

“Well, considering it was my player that won the tournament and I’m up by three strokes...”

“Beginner’s luck!” England scowled and waved at William to bring over glasses of lemonade on the tray he was holding.

“Getting tired already?” America handed off his club to his caddy and took the glass.

“I am thirsty! That's it." England scowled, taking a glass and pulling his handkerchief out to wipe his brow. It was rather warm today.

“Probably ‘cause you’re wearing so many layers.” He reached out and plucked at the thick edge of England’s sweater vest. His own clothes were far lighter.

“I am dressed appropriately for the event!" England frowned.

“For an Englishman.” Tipping back the glass, America drained it and set it back on the tray. “Come on, hit your ball so it can be my turn.” “Impatient boy,” England muttered setting his glass down as well before turning to take the swing.

“You’re sticking your ass out too far.”

England whipped around to stare at him in mortification. Someone could have heard him! “Excuse me!?”

“Watch me do it.” America smiled at him and held his hand out for one his clubs. Picking it up he stood parallel to England, lining up with an imaginary ball.

“I know how to do it! You are an awful teacher,” he pouted. It was far too distracting when he was right there in those blasted good-looking trousers!

“You aren’t a very good student,” America teased. “You’re too tense.” He straightened up and pushed on England’s shoulder playfully.

“And whose fault is that?” England whispered, leaning into his space. America hadn't visited in over a year and he had come blasting in and yanking him out to the course like a whirlwind with barely a hello.

America looked at him for a moment, blue eyes thoughtful. Then he grinned. “Aim for the weeds.”

“You aim for the weeds.” England crossed his arms with a sniff.

“It’s your ball in play. Hit it over there and then I can come help you find it.” He winked at him.

“When did you get clever?” England laughed, whipping the club back and driving it hard. The head met with the ball with a loud crack, sailing off the course. “Blast it all!” The caddies moved forward, but America waved them off. “We’ll get it.” He began to walk casually towards the tall grass and shrubs at the edge of the green.

England handed off his club and strode after him easily. “It must be a little further!” America said, voice loud so that the caddies could hear. They had reached the edge of a small wood and as soon as they reached it, America turned and caught England by the wrist and pulled him close. “Let me show you a proper technique, huh?” “Proper technique, my arse," he drawled. “Actions speak louder than words, my boy.”

America turned him around, pulling his back against his body. He pressed a kiss to his neck. “You gotta loosen up, darling. Otherwise you’re never gonna get a hole in one.” “Well, the less strokes you make is how you win. So, maybe if you stopped playing...” England grinned leaning back to look at him. “Kiss me, you git."

“What’s the par for this course?” America leaned in, lips brushing against England’s.

“That may just be the practice.” England sighed against his mouth.

“Mmmm.” He curled his fingers beneath England’s chin, drawing him into a deeper kiss. Leaning fully against America, the shorter blond hummed appreciatively, his heart picking up speed. It was the first time they had kissed since England had come to his silent realization. It made things all that exhilarating and terrifying.

“Better now?” America asked, bumping his nose against England’s.

“Yes," England answered truthfully, leaning his forehead against the other’s with a relaxed hum.

Squeezing him a little in the hug, America said, “Good, ‘cause it’s no fun to beat you at sports when you’re not trying.” America chuckled and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

“Hush you.”

“Make me.” America leaned close, his mouth close to England’s.

“You are the one who wanted to play golf. We can't out here.”

“Let’s go finish the game then, darling, you can congratulate me when I win,” America teased him, smiling. He pressed one more kiss on him and began making his way back out of the shrubs.

“Don’t think you are going to win, Alfred, just like that!” England snapped and dashed after him.

“We couldn’t find it,” America said to the caddies who hurried over. England’s pulled out a new ball and put it on the edge of the green. “C’mon Artie, play a good game.” He grinned at him.

“You bloody git," England hissed, snatching up his club. “I'll show you how it’s done.”

“I’m watching,” America said.

England glared and swung the club back.

***

He’d lost. He had seriously lost. Again. England stared at the score the caddies were holding up. His own caddy rather nervously. He had been so riled up by the other he hadn't managed a single decent swing.

America followed him to the car and stopped him before England could slide into the driver’s seat. There was no one nearby, so he kissed England on the cheek. “Good show. Not your golf game, but well...” He walked around to the other side of the car and dropped into the passenger seat. “The rest will have to wait.” “You are a prat." England scowled, settling into the driver's seat. “Being so cocky isn't always attractive you know.” “You want humble? How about, you can’t win ‘em all, darling. Maybe next time.” He leaned over and kissed him on the cheek again.

England swatted at him. “You insufferable prat!”

“I brought some new records with me, we could listen to them at your place,” America said, changing the subject. Smoothing his fingers on the back of England’s hand.

“I suppose we could,” England said, shifting the car into gear and pulling away from the course. “So you didn’t come here just to brag about the last golf tournament? It’s certainly not to discuss the business of the League.” “I probably wouldn’t come across the Atlantic at all if you weren’t here.” He leaned back against his seat, watching out the window.

“You’d have to”

“Maybe. One day they’ll come to me.”

“Possibly, but it would still go both ways.” England shrugged, turning onto a smaller dirt road.

“Maybe, but my boss wants me to back off from stuff right now. Just business these days. I’m not supposed to get into the politics.” “Trust me, I'm fully aware," England said tightly, the leather of the steering wheel creaking as his grip on it tightened. America glanced at him sideways.

“Can we start this whole thing over? I came over for more than the game, I wanted to see you.” His mouth quirked up at the corner. “And maybe your liquor cabinet? Prohibition is no fun at all.” “I told you it was a stupid idea.” England sniffed “And I offered you to come over here since we can drink in the open and you told me no, remember? You had much better clubs and such.” “That you still haven’t been to. Maybe I should kidnap you, make you have some fun on my side of the pond.” “You sure that's a good idea?" The car crested the top of a hill to reveal the small spread of houses and cottages that consisted of england's neighbors out hear in the country.

“I don’t really care if it is or not.” The house came into view, rose bushes just starting to gain buds for the spring. When the engine sputtered to a stop, America smiled at the house. “You’ve changed something about this house, it doesn’t look the same.” England stared at it for a moment. “Not that I recall.”

“Hmmm, maybe stuff just feels different.” America glanced at him. “So... about that drink...”

England arched a brow in amusement. “Really, Alfred?”

“Really, Arthur.” America gave him a very serious expression for a moment and then laughed. “C’mon, let’s go inside.” Popping open the car door, England gestured for America to go grab his bag before heading up the path to the front door. “What if I have no liquor at this house?” Shouldering his luggage, America shrugged. “I doubt it, but if it was true I suppose I would just have to get drunk on something else.” “Like what?” England frowned. “And you are always the one grouching at me for drinking...”

America waited until they were inside the house to answer. He picked up England’s hand and threaded their fingers together. “I would have to get drunk on you.” “You sap," England muttered looking away, cheeks hot.

America looked at him, reaching up to touch his cheek. “First time I’ve earned a blush in a while.”

Ears growing hot, England stepped back, his words coming out in a short stutter. “I- um. I am going to put the kettle on." England rushed into the kitchen, not even bothering to remove his coat. Yanking the kettle off the counter, England thrust it under the faucet with a deep breath. If he didn't cool down he was going to suffer some kind of heat stroke!

America didn’t follow right away. England could hear him poking around in the parlor until music started to sound from the gramophone. He appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “Whaddya think? It’s still pretty new, but they’re calling it jazz.” “It’s very... loud.” England turned away from the stove as it clicked on.

“It’s got something. It’s also fun to dance to.”

Unbuttoning his coat, England stepped into the front hall to hang it up. “It sounds certainly doable.”

“Dance with me?” America called from the other room.

“I thought you wanted spirits," England called back as little feet settled on his shoulder and tiny laughter let him know that he had visitors. The fairies giggled.

“I wouldn’t say no.”

“Hush you," England muttered as the little voice chimed loudly and he moved into his living room. “How about after supper?” “For dancing or drinks?” America asked, leaning in the doorway. He’d removed his hat, hair messy, his eyes watching England. “What’s for supper?” “What would you like?”England turned to look at him, eyes running over him appreciatively. He couldn't help himself. His fingers twitched. There was a list of things he wanted from the other and it took him by surprise the intensity of it all. “We could go fishing for supper?” “Sure, do you know a good spot?”

“I've got a pond on the backside of my house that is teeming full." England nodded, rolling up his sleeves.

“Let’s do it then.” England directed him to the shed where he kept several fishing rods and it didn’t take long for them to be settled down on the side of England’s pond, stretching out their legs and getting warm from the sun.

“This is nice.” England sighed, leaning back on his hands with a smile. America settled his fishing rod to make sure it wouldn’t go anywhere and he lay down on the grass.

“I’ve been spending a lot of time in the cities lately. It almost feels odd.”

“It’s nice to take a break from the hustle and bustle.” He looked down at him.

America shrugged. “Wouldn’t know.”

“You are doing it right now," England said flatly.

“I mean in a larger sense.” America stretched his arms over his head.

“Whatever do you mean?" England reached out and grabbed his pole as it began to twitch.

“The world has changed a lot since I was born. When we were living in that dirt floor house in the 1600s... I mean, in another few years I’ll probably be able to take a plane over here instead of a ship. On the other side of the Great War, even more is different now.” “Trust me. I have lived in many more different times. It never stops." England yanked back on his pole, a thrashing fish coming from the water.

As England reeled it in, America grabbed it at the end of the line and dropped it into the basket. “Yeah, but we were still only able to communicate by letter a hundred years ago. Now we can talk to each other even if you’re here and I’m there.” “Whether or not that is good has yet to be seen," England drawled, hooking another worm.

When England’s rod was settled, America leaned up enough to grab him around the waist and pull him into his arms. “Progress is always good.” “Not necessarily the case,” England argued.

America rested his chin on England’s shoulder as he held him loosely in his arms. He was quiet, turning over the idea in his head. “Looks like you’ve got another one on the line. I guess you have no luck at golf, but fishing on the other hand...” “Hush you.” England scowled and pulled back hard on the pole. “I am the one bringing home all the dinner apparently.” “Not all of it,” America said, releasing his hold on England to catch his own line as the it began to tug. England pulled in a decently large fish, but America’s turned out to be too small to eat. With a laugh he threw it back. “Live to swim another day.” “It seems that I am," England drawled.

“That’s fine, dude who catches the fish has to prepare them,” America teased. “I’m gonna cook ‘em though. You can just make sure there’s no scales or bones.” He tilted his head at England giving him a look that he didn’t quite trust him to do it.

“I can cook them!”

“You can help.”

“My house, my fish!” England crossed his arms, glaring at him.

“We could just not cook them. Eat them the way Kiku does.” America wrinkled his nose as if he wasn’t too fond of the idea. “He showed me this really interesting dish the last time he visited LA, but we’d need rice though...” “Are you willing to leave just so I don’t get to cook dinner?” England scowled.

“How about this, I cook the fish and you can make something else.” He scooted close to him, taking England’s face in his hands. “How does that sound?” “Like chips?” England stared at him.

“Sure, you can prep the potatoes for the fries.”

“Chips”

“Sure, babe.” America gave him a quick kiss. “Let’s get to making these.” He pushed himself to his feet and reeled in his line.

“Don’t just drop me on the ground!” England hissed and got to his feet after practically being dumped onto the ground. America looked at him, coming over. He put his hands on England’s arms as though looking for bruises. England swatted at his hands. “Don’t act like I am glass. Just don’t do that again.” “I promise. Do you forgive me?” He gave England an innocent, wide-eyed look.

“You little... don’t look at me like that.” England felt uneasy.

“Why not?” America stepped closer to him, more mischief glowing on his face.

“Because that's the kind of face you made when you were my colony.”

America stepped away, looking back towards the house. “Let’s just make dinner.”

“Yes, let's do that." England grabbed the bucket they had tossed the fish into and his pole, trudging back towards his back porch. America followed.

They cooked in an uneasy quiet, America occasionally bursting out with random comments or stories in the hopes of sparking conversation. Finally, he spoke on the subject floating in the back of both their minds. “Arthur, it’s been one hundred and thirty seven years.” “And?” England grabbed two plates and glasses from the cabinets.

“And... I hope that it won’t take another century for you to realize your former colony and I are the same person. To be okay with that.” America’s back was to him, carefully flipping the fish in the hot oil. “I never thought you were untouchable. I understand that it’s different for you.” “And for you to expect me to see that expression that you haven't given me since your rebellion and then expect sexual activities afterwards is ridiculous.” The dishware cracked loudly as he set them down hard on the countertop.

“That wasn’t what I was trying to do. And if you still don’t know... the rumors were true. I wouldn’t have known the first thing of what to do... but I had feelings for you. When I was still a colony.” The oil in the pan stopped hissing as America moved it off the heat. “So, sometimes I was looking at you with ideas in my head.” England's fingers tightened around the plates. He had been feeling so positive earlier, his chest aching with excitement at exploring new things. Ignoring the nagging fear. And yet here it was right in front of his face. They had too much history.

America sighed. “For what it’s worth, I don’t like to think of the way you looked at me back then either. I didn’t like the way it made me feel. Like I was just a trophy.” There was a pause. “Do you still want to eat?” “We prepared dinner we should eat it," he said firmly.

“Okay.” He picked up the food and brought it to where England was standing with the plates. England didn’t look at him, but America leaned over and kissed the side of his head. “It’s been about eighty-one years.” England leaned back against the other, one emotion outweighing the other fears. “What do you mean?”

“It’s been about eighty-one years since our first kiss. There’s been a lot between then and now, but I wouldn’t change that fact.” “You’ve been counting?”

“Of course.”

“You are...” England shook his head.

“What?”

“Nothing. Let's eat.”

America helped him get the plates ready and they moved out to a small table in the back garden. It was still crisp as the spring evening grew. “You’re being awfully quiet,” America said.

“There is nothing wrong with being quiet." England got up.

“No, I just want to know what you are thinking.”

“Private thoughts.” England sniffed, moving to the china cabinet on the far wall, opening it to peruse a large selection of liquor bottles and glasses.

America stood up, coming over and looping his arms around England’s waist. He looked at the bottles in the cabinet. “Which one are you thinking?” “What would you like?”

“Hmmm... this one.” He reached in and pulled out a dusty bottle of Kentucky bourbon. “I gave this one to you I think.” “Well... John... yes.”

“It’s that old?”

“Yes... he... you brought it over as a gift once.”

He was still for a moment, chin resting on England’s shoulder. “We should drink it.”

“Really?” He glanced sideways at America. “Are you sure?”

“Are you? I mean, it’s yours.”

“Yes... I was just wondering since who gave it to me.”

“That was a long time ago. We got put back together.” America was uncharacteristically quiet. His hold on England tightened for a moment, a little squeeze. “It was a long time ago,” he repeated.

“Yes, it was, Love." England turned his head pressing his lips to America’s jaw.

America flushed, eyes widening. Then he smiled, holding up the bottle. “Let’s crack it open.”

“All right then.” He grabbed two glasses and pulled away, heading back to the table he set the glasses down with a soft clink. America came over to the table and sat down, watching England pour. “I hope that John had a better taste in liquor than you tend to.” “Technically, we’re the same person. Remember?”

“Yes, but you seemed to have lost the taste in liquor.” England handed him a glass.

America examined the amber liquid in the light. “Kentucky was neutral, you know. But anyway, what should we drink to?” England arched a brow. “We could just drink to drink. Or perhaps you breaking the law? Your own law?”

“If I’m not at home am I still breaking the law?” America said, smiling. He tapped his glass against England’s, before tipping it back. “Yeehaw,” he said as the liquor burned down his throat. England shook his head with a wrinkle in his nose at the other’s behaviour before took a sip. When his cup hit the table again, America picked up the bottle to refill it. “Let’s go again.” “Really?” England frowned.

“I want to feel it.” England poured him another with a rather hesitant expression. America took the drink and downed it, a flush spreading across his cheeks. “Again?” “Alfred, how about you slow down.” England's fingers curled around the neck of the bottle.

“Why?”

“Otherwise you'll get drunk, git."

“Isn’t that the point?” He tried to reach for the bottle. Yanking the bottle, England scowled at him.

“That’s what you want to do tonight?”

“What do you have in mind? Or are you going to continue to be strange?”

“I have not been strange!”

“You’re being hot and cold. I should put on another record. Maybe you’ll dance with me?” He stood up and glanced over his shoulder.

“I have not been...” He sighed. “Just put it on.”

America smiled, ambling out of the room. The music started again, an upbeat tune. Getting up, England followed him into the living room, rolling up his sleeves. America smiled at him, holding out his hands.

“You know supper is going to get cold.”

“Not in the time it takes for one dance.”

“Fine.” England heaved a sigh and placed his hands in America’s. “If this is what it takes.”

“You still know how to foxtrot?” America asked.

England snorted. “Of course I do. It's only been 7 years.”

“Just checking.” America grinned and pulled him into the steps.

“Oy, who said you got to lead!” England scowled. Feather step, left turn, feather finish, three step, natural turn. “I am surprised you know the international form."

“Just for you.”

England looked away, the statement bringing heat to his cheeks. They finished the dance, the record coming to an end. America held him for a moment, then released him when his stomach rumbled. “I’m ready for dinner now. You?” England's fingers lingered on America's shoulders for a moment before pulling away. “We should sit outside on the grass.” “If you'd like.”

America gathered up the plates as England fetched a blanket. They settled down, eating quietly as the sun began to dip below the horizon. As America finished his plate, he pushed it off the side, laying down and putting his head in England’s lap.

England spun the wine glass around in his hand calmly, having snagged glasses and a bottle of wine on the way out. “What are you thinking?” “About the game today.”

“Why would you be thinking of that?” England frowned.

“Because I was enjoying the view when you lined up for your shots.”

England nearly choked on his wine, turning scarlet. “Alfred!”

America looked up at him, smiling. “If the caddies wouldn’t have come looking for us, it could have gotten real serious in that little wood.” “It would not!” England protested, flicking his forehead.

“Ow!” America rubbed at the spot. “Really? I had all kinds of ideas.”

England looked away stubbornly with red ears. “So crude.”

“I’ve seen your secret bookshelf. I’m sure you have some ideas too.” He took England’s hand and threaded their fingers together, resting their clasped hands on his chest.

“Don’t be crass," England hushed him.

“Would you rather me be romantic?” He brought England’s hand to his lips, kissing the back of it.

“You fool...” He looked away embarrassment and pleasure covering his features. What was he supposed to say to that!?

“Yep,” America said. He sat up, hooking his fingers under England’s chin and made him look at him. He leaned forward slightly.

“I think we are almost out of wine!” England said, quickly.

“No, we’re not.” He brushed his lips against England’s. It was like unwinding a tight spring, the need to flee from the situation evaporated and England leaned over into the kiss with a small sigh. America’s hand slid across his jaw to cup the back of his head. He parted his lips, inviting England for more.

Instead of taking the bait England sat up, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Sorry Love, that is anything but comfortable.” America leaned back, lips pressed together. He peered at England. “Did I do something?”

England frowned. “No, you are just laying in my lap and bending down that far is hurting my neck.”

America chuckled. “The get comfortable, ‘cause I intend to kiss you.”

“Then get a move on, big boy,” England mocked his drawl, leaning back on his hands.

America sat up, scooting closer and then throwing one leg over England’s lap so that he was astride his outstretched legs. He leaned in for a kiss, placing his hands on the blankets to hold up his weight.

“Graceful," England mumbled against his mouth, responding to the kiss gently, lazily. America made a small sound of amusement, hooking an arm around his back. England kissed him back slowly, a gasp of surprise escaping him as it seemed America’s patience for playing was gone. He wanted action.

America pushed him back against the blanket, deepening the kiss. He put one hand in England’s hair, grip tugging slightly on the strands. Despite the chill in the air, the touches brought warmth to their skin. There was no hurry, America seemed content with the closeness of the kiss, having England in his arms.

“Alfred?”

“What?”

England stared up at him cheeks even darker than before, if that was possible. “I-um..." He didn't stutter! He was the bloody British Empire! America leaned up on his elbows, brushing his fingers through England’s hair. He gave him an expectant look, waiting for him to finish speaking.

“We should probably head to bed!”

“That depends. Were you planning on sleeping any time soon?”

“I-" England looked away with a swallow. “Why?” he tried.

“You know why.”

“Maybe I need it spelled out for me," he tried to sound as if he was genuine, but to England's mortification it came out as coy. But for some reason he needed to hear it.

Leaning down to his ear, America said, “Because I’ve missed you and I want to feel your skin against mine. Been thinking about it all day.” England looked away in embarrassment. “I guess as a host that would be rude if I went straight to bed, then." The words were barely out of his mouth when he was lifted off the blanket, a sound of surprise escaping him. That was all he had time for. America's lips pressed to his, warm and eager, just like the fingers that carded their way through his hair.

The slight chill of the evening air was replaced by the warmth of his house enveloping them like an oversized quilt. America’s gait barely changed as he stepped onto the staircase and England hummed as calloused fingers rubbed at his lower back and along the hem of his trousers with an itching promise.

Stumbling into the bedroom, America tipped England backwards, lowering him onto the bed and climbing up above him. Impatient hands pulled England’s shirt out of his trousers and he heard the distinct snap of a thread coming loose from a button. Followed by another, and another. The fabric tangled around England’s arms as America tried to shove it off. Having access to his skin seemed to stave off some of the hurry, America sliding his hands over his ribs. His fingers traced a pattern, inspecting, then slid down England’s side to squeeze his hip. “I’ll never get tired of that.” “Tired of what?” England breathed, burying his nose in the crook of America’s neck breathing in deeply. He still smelt of open spaces.

“Touching you.” America leaned down and pressed a kiss on England’s bare shoulder. His hands moved to England’s belt, pulling it free, starting on his trousers.

“So embarrassing,” England breathed and nimble fingers made their own progress on America’s clothes. His eyes slid shut as his fingers traced down America’s body, as if relearning the other. It was different this time. Just ever so slightly.

“Nope,” America said, lifting England’s hips so he could slide the fabric over his legs. He leaned up, shrugging out of his shirt and tugging his undershirt over his head before coming back for a kiss.

“Alfred" he breathed and pressed his mouth to the others as he worked off his trousers, fingers moving up to the others shoulders as the other sat up, pulling him into his lap. He pulled away to press a kiss just below the other’s ear, reveling in the sound that answered.

America slipped his hands over England’s back, fingers finding sensitive spots that sent sparks over England’s skin.

“Alfred?” It came out in a whisper as he pressed his forehead to the others staring into that ocean blue, as if he couldn't look away.

America looked back at him, moving one of his hands so he could curl his fingers against England’s cheek. “Hmmm?” “Kiss me," he breathed, it almost sounded like he was nervous. America smiled at him, before bringing his mouth back to England’s, drawing him in. The kiss felt as though it could reach every part of him at once. England kissed him back deeply.

“What are you thinking?” America asked, voice a little breathy after the kiss.

With eyes closed England sighed quietly before admitting, “I'm not.”

“Good.” America ducked his head, pressing his mouth against England’s collarbone and grazing the skin with his teeth as he ran his hands over England’s hips. England pushed America down onto the bed, no more words needed.

***

When England woke up to sunshine pouring in through the drapery they had forgotten to close, it was the shrill screech of his tea kettle that caught his attention. Sleep filled eyes, flicked over to the empty space in the bed beside him. The clattering in the kitchen below accompanied by the smells of breakfast wafting up the stairs and coaxing him up and into his house robe before moving down the stairs with a yawn.

America was standing at the stove, his pajamas pulled on, but the shirt unbuttoned at the top. He glanced over his shoulder from the stove, offering England a smile. “I’m making pancakes. The sausage is done though and the eggs.” He gestured with his elbow at a covered platter.

“I heard the kettle." England shuffled forward,trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. He was cold. Moving over towards the other he wormed his way between the taller man and the stove. There he paused, the space much warmer. If America told anyone that he had made his way into the space only to stop and tuck his head underneath the others chin with a yawn, he would deny it.

“You could have stayed in bed. I was going to bring it to you.” He wrapped an arm around his waist, flipping the newly finished pancake from the pan onto a plate. Settling the spatula down on the edge of the stove, he held England in his other arm. “This is a nice surprise, though.” “Didn’t want you to ruin my tea,” England murmured, pressing a kiss to America's neck.

America chuckled. “That all?”

“You can't make a good cup to save your life. It's beyond me. Your people love tea, too.”

“Not nearly as fussy about it though,” America teased. “I got out the teapot for you. You can fix it up and then breakfast will be ready.” He kissed England on the forehead.

“I guess I can judge your pancakes now.”

“Mine are the best.”

“Forgive me if I have my doubts. Matthew's are amazing. The best I've ever had and probably ever will. Some of the best things in the world," England drawled out the last bit for the sake of his own amusement, watching the pout that formed on the other’s face.

“These ones are better. My syrup is better, too,” America insisted.

“You know there are several things that your brother is better at than you and that is quite all right.” England poured his cup of tea with a glance back at the living room. He would have to fetch his house slippers if it didn't warm up soon. It was nearly June, but mornings still proved to be on the chilly side.

“Then you admit most things I do much better.” America grinned at him, finishing off the next batch of pancakes and ladling them onto the plate.

“You have such a inflated ego." England sighed.

“It’s just the right size.”

England snorted. “What gave you that idea?”

Turning around with a plate of food in each hand, America tilted his head at him. “Surely, you can figure it out.” England frowned over his cup of tea at him “Whatever do you mean?”

“I wouldn’t be who I am if I wasn’t me.”

“Well, yes," England said flatly.

Walking over to England, America leaned close to him. “You helped make me who I am. So maybe some of your ego was contagious.” He kissed him on the cheek.

“Good thing you hardly remember my pirate days.”

“Why is that a good thing?” America walked into the dining room and settled the plates there.

“Then you’d know a true ego with real back up.”

America came back into the kitchen, standing in front of England. “I’m not full of hot air, sweetheart.”

“Could have fooled me.” England drawled and stuck his hand into his pocket, pulling out a silver cigarette case.

“Don’t worry, you’ll see.” He kissed him before he could put the cigarette in his mouth. “Come eat before it gets cold.” “Fine, fine,” England mumbled and popped the case closed and followed after him. “Maybe you’ll give me another reason to smoke?” America turned a little pink. “Right now?”

“I don't know.” England shrugged, eyeing him.

America leaned against the edge of the table. His glasses had been left upstairs and he squinted at England. The corner of his mouth turned up. He half turned to look at the breakfast food laid out on the table and picked up a piece of bacon. “Come try this.” “I know what bacon taste like, Alfred." England sniffed but came forward and gestured for him to hand it over.

“Yeah, I know.” He held it out, but when England tried to take it with his fingers he pulled it away. As England glared at him, he held it out again, pressing it to England’s lips. For a moment England frowned at him, a smidgen of distrust present in his eyes before he leaned forward and took a bite.

America’s fingers brushed England’s chin. “What do you think?”

Swallowing England nodded. “It’s bacon.”

Hooking his fingers beneath his chin, America reached behind him and picked up another piece. “It’s bacon I cooked.” “I am aware of that. It’s good, yes. Although...” He peered back at the table behind him “You didn’t perhaps make Matthew’s pancakes?” “I told you, they’re my pancakes. All American.” He hooked an arm around England’s waist and speared a piece with a fork, holding it up for England.

“Well, that's a shame... but I guess I can try.” England gave an exaggerated pained expression. “Be brave and all that." He heaved a dramatic sigh.

“I can cook, too.” He held it up, waiting for England to take it. England smirked and opened his mouth, taking the oversized bite with a hum, chewing thoughtfully, he nodded. Picking up another piece, America took a bite himself. “So?” “It’s next best.” England swallowed and grinned.

“Fuck off, you know it’s better,” America teased, squeezing England’s hip. “You know why?”

England crossed his arms. “Excuse me?”

“It’s better, because this would not be happening if Matt were here and these were his pancakes.” America put his fingers on England’s chin and pulled him into a kiss. Humming in response England leaned into the kiss, bracing himself against the younger blond. The kiss was sweet, in moment and in taste. Pulling back he looked up at the other.

“Where did that come from?”

“Just wanted to.”

“You always did get what you wanted,” England sniffed.

“What do you want?’ America asked, pressing a kiss to the corner of England’s mouth. He held him close, their bodies warm together.

“Well-” He was interrupted by the rumbling of his stomach. “To eat it seems.”

America grinned. “Well, eat up, sweetheart. There’s lots.” He pulled out a chair for England and sat down beside him on the same side of the table, their elbows bumping against each other while they ate.

“Titanic.”

“Hmmm?” America said, looking at him.

“This reminds me of the Titanic.”

“Yeah, except there was music playing. And hopefully won’t end the same way.” America looked down at his plate, pushing his egg for a moment before picking it up with his fork.

“I was talking about your flat in New York afterwards. And your new shower,” England murmured quietly. America looked at him, a soft smile on his lips.

“Yeah, it was warm and quiet. I noticed that you put in one in the bathroom...”

“Yes, it's a sensible invention now that I’ve gotten used to it.”

America slid the last piece of bacon off his plate and put it in his mouth. “Hmmm, I might need to wash up. Come with me?” “I am not done, sir. Not all of us inhale our food," he said dryly.

A laugh. “I can wait. I like watching you eat.”

England paused and stared at him. “Odd fetish.”

America rolled his eyes. “It’s not like that. You always made sure I ate, gotta make sure you do it, too.” “I'm an adult, Alfred. You were a child,” he said dryly.

“Fine. But for the record, I see you making an effort to make sure I have enough food. It also makes me like you just a little bit more.” America leaned forward and kissed England on the cheek. “Finish up, sweetheart.” “Anticipation is everything, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaannnnddd we're back! Thank you for bearing with us for our holiday break! We've got a lot of chapters coming up for you and will *hopefully* be back to posting more regularly!
> 
> If you've enjoyed our story, please leave us a comment or a kudo! We love to hear your thoughts!


	11. A Royal Wedding and a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Duke of York is getting married and England is in for a surprise visitor. When they are alone, there is a story to be told about another world.

_December 6, 1921_

_10 Downing Street, London_

“Honestly, Colleen is going to be insufferable after this,” England muttered, teeth baring at the tall red head who jabbed him with his elbow.

“Oy, come off it lad, always been getting arse hurt when you lose.”

“Sod off, Alistair,” England muttered, a death glare settling on him. “She didn’t even bring full representatives.” He glanced at the two men that had arrived with letters stating plenipotentiary. “Negotiators who can sign official documents without asking their superiors for permission,” he sneered. Even his own prime minister, Lloyd, had shown up for this. “If this was so important then you would think she would at least send two appropriate men.” “Maybe they were considered the most appropriate for the job.” Scotland shrugged and reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a cigar case, popping the case open to reveal two. Grabbing one of them, he gestured to England to take the other one. England reached over and grabbed it as he fished a book of matches from his own pocket, striking them with a grunt of thanks before handing the packet off to the older man.

“Well, I decline to recognise their status, and by the look on my prime minister’s face neither does the British Government.” England exhaled, his tone smug. “A meeting of the members elected to sit in the House of Commons of Southern Ireland and by the British Parliament is required for this treaty to be ratified. Those were, and are, the terms.” “And you are going to stall this as long as possible aren’t you, Arthur!? You never did like losing!” Colleen’s voice cut sharply through the smoke from their cigars. Turning, the two brothers turned to see their sister standing behind them with her hands on her hips. Judging by the fury in the young woman’s eyes, England was glad that he had recommended Seamus stay away. He and Colleen had been fighting, rather viciously as late, and the upcoming ratification of the treaty worried England that a civil war may be on the horizon.

“It's not I who did not bring in the proper delegates and that is what shall be holding us up.” England frowned and Scotland’s low whistle accompanied the anger that sparked its way across the potential Irish Republic’s face. “And there is no need for you to be rude, I am doing the best I can to agree with as many of your demands as possible.” England crossed his arms, only undoing them when drinks were presented. “Crown forces will withdraw from most of Ireland.” “They should be completely withdrawn!” she snapped.

“You are to to become a self-governing dominion of the British Empire, just like the dominions of Australia, Canada, Newfoundland, New Zealand and the Union of South Africa. As with the others, the King will be the Head of State of the Irish Free State and will be represented by a Governor General.” England frowned. “You yourself complained that you wanted what Matthew has and now you’re getting it. What has upset you now!?” “The fact that I will assume responsibility for a part of the United Kingdom's debt, as it stands on the date of signature.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste and irritation.

“Well, you did accrue debts. I have been paying with the Great War and much before then.”

“The Great War-”

“Where many were in support of joining the fight,” England interrupted dryly. “And that meeting hasn’t even started properly yet. I am trying to have a drink and a smoke. Details are to be taken care of when we actually get started.” He handed his untouched drink to her in a simple form of truce. Her green eyes, the feature that all of the United Kingdom family carried, flicked over him before dropping on Alistair who shrugged. He wasn’t going to be involved in this one.

“Fine,” she muttered and took the glass from his hand with a sulky expression. This would be the only amiable moment.

“I see that you have taken a fancy to the Regatta blouse,” England commented on Ireland’s attire, it reminded him of a sailor uniform. He watched the smile work its way up on his sister’s face and the sight was warming. Although, now he slightly regretted it and Scotland’s grunt let him know so did the other. It seemed they were about to get a whole spiel about women’s fashion.

***

_April 26, 1923_

_London, England_

"To think there's a woman in this world that would have turned down to proposal from the prince," England commented again, watching George being fitted into his royal uniform. He took the cup of tea offered with a nod of thanks. The prince glared at him in the mirror.

"Women these days seem to have their own minds. You are never going to let me live that down are you?" George heaved a sigh. "This is my wedding day and you give me the same amount of grief as usual, can't you give me a break?"

“Women have always had their own minds, but in the past they have been severely punished for showing it. Now it's becoming more acceptable, although we are far from where we could be. And this is the exact day I can't give you a break." England crossed his legs with a grin. "Oh, what did she say again?" He tapped his chin in mock of serious thought. "Oh, yes." He cleared his throat and quoted Elizabeth. "'Afraid never, never again to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to." He leveled George with a glance "Honestly, I think you are about to marry one of the most down-to-earth and realistic women in the entire court. Although, I suppose that she was originally being courted by your head attendant so she had a look into the personal life of the English court that most do not get. That may be part of it." England shrugged again and smiled at him. “You even proposed again and she still said no.” “Don’t remind me.” George groaned in embarrassment. “I wasn't sure if I could ever show my face in court again. I am as surprised as you that she ever said yes. So is the public as a matter of fact. The fact that I am not marrying a princess, but rather the daughter of a peer seems to have caused a stir in the people. Some think I should have married a princess, as historically has always been done. Others are pleased with the change and status as they see it as a step towards a modernization of the Court.” He glanced down as another layer of ribbons was added to his chest by his valet.

“It is nice to be with the one you have amorous feelings towards.” England smiled. “I am glad that it worked out.” He peered down into his cup for a moment before taking a sip. His mind drifted over to blue eyes and unkempt blond hair. The fact that he could be speaking of such things and that the image of America coming to his mind did not completely fluster him was new, and more than welcome, he had come to realize. He didn't need to look up to know the expression that George had on his face.

George and his mother the Queen Mary had almost seemed to realize it before he had that he had finally come to some level of acknowledgement of his feelings towards the American Nation. Now it was just a matter of what he was going to do about them. He realized that he could not ignore them forever and with the actions of America and the constant verbal affirmations of affection from the other made it quite obvious that reciprocation of some form outside of sex would be necessary. It was that, the verbal admittance, that was the terrifying portion.

“Is h-he coming, to the w-wedding? You know that he is more-more than welcome.” George stepped away from the mirror to grab his own cup of tea, the slight shake of the cup in his hands betraying the nerves that were slowly beginning to work their way through the prince. The stutter always became worse when he was nervous.

“He is not coming. I did not extend an invitation for him.” England admitted. “There is a lot going on, especially for a young nation like himself to deal with back in his home. I did not want to add to his obligations in such a manner. He also retains a particular hatred and disdain for such ceremonial events.” He shrugged. “I don't want him to feel like he's obligated to come to this event and then be thoroughly miserable while he's here. That just doesn't bode well.” Leaning back further into his chair he ignored the look that George sent him.

“Well, I guess that he will be c-coming sometime... have to make sure Elizabeth meets him.”

“Yes, quite right.”

“Although I was positive that I saw him out on the ground this morning with Lily, heading her as she was getting ready for her morning saddle.” George frowned and England looked at him and surprise.

“That was probably Matthew that you saw. They are remarkably similar.”

“I know for a fact that it wasn't him because he was heading into the study with Alistair, talking about some stuff the church wouldn't be happy with,” he said dryly.

“Impossible.” England got to his feet and set his cup down. “George, I do believe I left something in my parlour I'll kip over and be right back.” ***

England had to do a double take when he opened the door to his rooms and saw America sitting in the chair, flipping through a book. He tried to get his pulse to settle when America looked up at him with a smile. He was already dressed well enough to attend the event, although he’d done something to his tie and it was wrinkled against his shirt front. “Howdy! I thought you were with one of your princes. They told me very pointedly I had to wait. I didn’t think you’d be getting out of getting ready for a wedding until it was actually going on. I was just going to meet you there.” England stared at him in disbelief before blurting. “What are you doing here?”

“Surprising you.”

“I... why did you come?”

“Maybe I wanted to see why you keep turning down my invites to come see me.”

“I haven't turned down any invites.”

“Then someone is plucking them out of your mail because I’ve invited you to my place a few times.” America stretched his arms. “I’ve also asked you in person, darling, and you always change the subject.” “When?” he said flatly, crossing his arms. “I said yes the one time I remember you asking.”

“And then you never came. So now I’m here, I heard about it in the papers and decided to come.” America stood up and walked over to him. “Are you happy to see me or what?” “I'm just surprised.” England looked up at him. “Did you get taller?”

“Maybe.” America reached out and ran his fingers down the collar of England’s jacket. “You look nice.”

“Why thank you.” He didn’t bother to glance down at the deep red uniform. “I am dressed for a wedding.”

“I figured. That was why I came,” America said. “I dressed up too.”

England’s eyes slipped down. “Yes... yes, you did.”

“Arthur, can I accompany you then?” America’s face was close to his, his nose bumping England’s cheek.

“I suppose.” England closed his eyes. “Do stop dragging your feet. It's not enticing in the least right now.” He breathed.

America curled his fingers beneath England’s chin and kissed him. It was slow, soft. “If we do any more than that... we’ll be late.” “We have a couple moments. Although you are wasting it with words,” England whispered, he felt as if he spoke any louder he'd break whatever small bubble of serenity existed in this moment. America leaned in again, drawing England back against him. He kissed him again, wrapping an arm around England’s back. Kissing him gently in return, England's surprise turned to happiness.

“I get to sit by you, right?” America said as the clock began to chime the hour. He smoothed the front of England’s uniform as he reluctantly pulled away.

“Well... um, I can see what I can make happen. It is all of a sudden.”

“Good.” America smiled at him. “I’ll see you at the church? Or do you want me to stay with you?”

“I'll meet you there.”

“All right, see you there.” America leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, before heading out of the room. He paused in the doorway, throwing England one last smile before disappearing behind the door.

***

England still couldn't believe the other had showed up out of nowhere. It was the most un-America thing to do. Show up, willingly, to a formal event. Sliding into the seat next to the other nation he offered a smile. It would be minutes before the bride arrived. “Hello.” “Hello,” America replied, offering him a smile in return. Their seats were on the end of a row, but they had a good view of the proceedings. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to stand me up.” “Don't be cheeky.” England shot him a look. “I had several things to do.”

“I’m just pulling your leg. I’ve never been to a royal wedding, you sure do pull out all the stops.”

England frowned. “You came to Albert and Victoria's.”

“Are you sure?” America scrunched his brow. “Though to be honest, the entire middle of the 1800s were pretty hazy.”

“I was positive you had... oh... never mind that was Ludwig.” He shook his head.

A flash of an emotion went across America’s face. Jealousy? England couldn’t be sure. “Well, of course, he was there. Albert was German. Your nobles have married Americans, when is one of your royalty?” America elbowed him lightly in the ribs. The color drained from England's face.

“The day that happens will be one for the history books. Strife and mayhem.” He shuddered.

“Really now? I’m not that bad.” America chuckled.

“The public... the scandal.” England rubbed at his temple, stressed out already by just the thought of it.

America leaned close so no one else could hear. “Are you saying my kissing you back in your rooms was scandalous? Never would have thought it.” When England turned to glare at him, America smiled. England didn’t get a chance to respond as the music began and everyone stood for the bride.

***

England hummed quietly as they entered his sitting room, the clocking chiming to let them know the midnight hour. “That was lovely, Elizabeth’s dress was gorgeous. Deep ivory chiffon moire, embroidered with pearls and a silver thread, a silver leaf girdle had a path of spring green tulle, draping to the ground; silver and rose thistle fastened on its edges. Elizabeth has single-handedly erased the superstition that it is bad for a bride to wear green on her wedding day.” His fingers undoing the buttons of his vest. “And to think Elizabeth laid her bouquet at the Tomb of The Unknown Warrior on the way to the Abbey, in memory of her brother Fergus. I can assure you Alfred that will be a tradition for royal brides to come.” “She seems special,” America said. “You looked really proud of both of them.”

“He persisted and she didn't say yes to just become a princess. It's going to be a good match.”

America shrugged out of his jacket, loosening his suspenders until they dropped off and hung to the sides of his trousers. “I wonder what that’s like. Asking someone to marry you. Hoping that they’ll agree.” “Can't say I know. I've only been married once and it was a rather unique situation.” England shrugged, removing his own suspenders.

“That must have been before I existed. Who were you married to?”

“Elizabeth I.” He moved around the couch to open the door after a soft knock sounded on it. Opening the door he reached out to grab the tea cart that has been left in the hallway and pulled the silver contraption in.

America walked over to snatch up a small sandwich off the tray. “So when she said she was married to England, she wasn’t joking? Did she ask you then?” He gave England a teasing smile, before putting the food in his mouth.

“Yes, she did.” He nodded and flipped over two porcelain cups and lifting the teapot poured two cups of hot milk.

“But you said you didn’t know... that was all politics wasn’t it? She needed the people to follow her so Spain couldn’t invade. If I remember those big books you tried to crush me with when I was small correctly.” America dodged England’s half-hearted attempt to hit him. “I don’t know if that counts.” “There were bishops and witnesses, the whole lot. I even have a crown from it.” He sipped from his cup after casting him a cool glance. “She said she was married to England did she not?” America found a spot on the couch beside England, pulling off his tie and loosening the top button of his shirt. He picked up his own glass of milk and took a sip. “Ok, you were married. Did you ever want to ask someone yourself?” He yawned and leaned his head on England’s shoulder, snuggling against him.

“Yes, a long time ago I considered it.”

“Who?”

England peered down into his glass for a moment. “Vicente.”

America leaned up off him, looking at his face. “Really? Why him?”

“He is the nation that I've had the least conflict with, the most support.” England stared down into his cup hard.

America looked down at his own cup, considering. “I guess you’ve been allies longer than I’ve even existed...” America reached forward and refilled his cup. “What stopped you?” “I was told it wasn't necessary.”

“Trusting someone enough to offer to stay with them for eternity wasn’t necessary?” Confusion laced America’s voice as he leaned back, shoulder bumping against England’s.

“Love has nothing to do with it, Alfred.” He shrugged.

“Why not? Your prince loves his new wife. I could see it. He wouldn’t have kept asking her if he didn’t. Other women would have married him.” “For me it had nothing to do with it.” England shrugged. “It was going to be political.”

America glanced at him. “I know about political marriage. I was asking about love. I wonder what it’s like to ask someone you love to marry you.” “I don’t know. I've never thought about it,” England admitted.

“I have.” America blushed, looking away.

“Really?” England felt his heart skip a beat, whether with excitement or fear he couldn't pinpoint.

America suddenly found his teacup intensely interesting. “It sounds nice, don’t you think? Promising and being promised that someone will be there for you no matter what happens. Being able to see the person you love in your house. Waking up to them... I’ve only thought of it a little.” His blush deepened.

“Something out of a nation’s reach,” England said firmly.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t imagine what it would be like.” America fiddled with the cup and sat it back on the tray. “And just because something hasn’t happened, doesn’t mean it can’t.” “Perhaps not,” England shrugged and eyed him. “What?”

America glanced back, his cheeks still pink. “It’s a nice idea is all.”

“Yes. Very appropriate.” England grinned. “You looked flushed, Alfred.”

“It’s hot,” America retorted, the flush darkening when England moved closer.

“Perhaps you should take some layers off then. Not good for one's health to be overheated.” England set his cup down.

America watched him, fingers going to the buttons of his vest. “Not much to take off.” He shrugged out of the garment, his fingers going to the buttons on his shirt.

“whatever helps I suppose. It's a good thing we have to change for bed.” England got to his feet.

America sat on the couch for a moment longer and then got to his feet. “I guess so.” He caught up to England and without a word scooped him up into his arms.

“Oy! Alfred!” England gasped.

“I’ve got a couple nice ideas for tonight.”

“I hope sleeping is number one one the list.”

“Maybe three or four. I think I can summon up the energy.” America carried him into the bedroom. “Wouldn’t be a proper visit if I didn’t kiss you at least a few more times.” America lay England down on the bed, pressing a soft kiss to him.

“As long as it's just that tonight.” England kissed him back. “I'm very tired.” And just sleeping next to you sounds amazing.

“If that’s all you want,” America said against his lips.

“Humor me tonight.” England kissed him with a soft smile.

“Okay.” America gave him another soft kiss before pulling away to shrug out of his shirt and begin changing out of his trousers.

Changing, England draped his clothes over a chair by the window and moved towards the bed. Staff had already been in to pull down the sheets of his burgundy four poster.

America settled onto his side of the bed after pulling on his pajamas. He settled his glasses onto the side table and turned towards England. England looked at him and shook his head before slipping beneath the blankets.

“Someday.”

“Someday what?”

“You'll learn. It's only been what a hundred years?” He gestured to America’s nightwear before getting up to grab his own.

America looked down, plucking at the front. “It’s habit. You don’t have to go anywhere.” He caught England by the elbow. “You want me to take them off?” “No.” England shook his head. “I am just putting on my own.”

When England came back, America scooted over to the middle of the bed so that he could wrap England up in his arms. He pressed his nose into England’s hair.

It was beyond nice. It was lovely to wrapped up like this. Warm and comfortable and England sighed happily as a sense of peace draped over him. “Alfred?” “Yeah?” America relaxed against him, body fitting easily against him. England hummed for a moment, hesitating. It was so calm and peaceful with no distractions. The day had been without strife and all had been happy.

“Alfred, I-I l-” He swallowed. America shifted, moving so that his head rested beside England’s on the pillow. He looked at him, curiosity in his face.

“You?” he asked. His eyes were wide, the blue so familiar to England by now. His face was hopeful, curious... vulnerable. He swallowed himself.

“I, um...”His eyes darted away. “I-well I lo... love...” His mouth went dry.

America was holding his breath, England could feel it with how close they were together. He was trying to be patient, his body practically vibrating with the effort to not ask for the conclusion of the sentence. “Arthur?” he said, not being able to hold in words anymore.

“I loved the suit you were wearing today. Very handsome.” It came out in a rush. The words nearly tripping over each other. He wasn't ready.

Disappointment washed across America’s face, but he covered it up by leaning forward to kiss England. “Thanks, sweetheart. You looked good, too.” He ran a hand up England’s back, snuggling closer to him. “I loved seeing your face during the wedding.” “What do you mean?”

“It’s not often you’re that unguarded. Like now.” America ran his fingers down the side of England’s face. “You looked happy earlier. You look happy now.” England flushed and scowled. “Don’t be...” He looked away in embarrassment.

“It’s okay, Arthur. I think I know what you mean.” He kissed his cheek, then yawned. “Let’s get some rest.”

England looked up again before breathing. “Kiss me again.”

America smiled, leaning into him to press his mouth against England’s. His hands were warm through England’s nightshirt, fingers brushing lightly on the skin that showed as England wrapped his arms around America’s neck. Sighing happily once more England pulled back only to tuck his face into the crook of America’s neck. “Good night.” “Good night, Arthur.” He mumbled something against the top of England’s head that he couldn’t quite catch. It didn’t take long for America to drift off into sleep, his warmth drawing England down as well.

***

America stirred as he awoke, a warm weight on his arm. He looked down to see England’s face, nestled against his shoulder. His face was smooth with sleep. He smiled, enjoying the pocket of quiet. He felt a flutter in his chest. He was so sure that England had been about to tell him something last night. He touched England’s cheek. You can trust me, you know. America thought, wishing England could find the words. He kissed the top of his head and closed his eyes again, wanting to savor the comfortable blankets before the world invaded their space again.

“Go back to sleep.” England's voice was thick as it cracked the silence.

“Trying,” America mumbled, content. I love you.

“Good.” England leaned his head back to press a lazy kiss underneath America’s jaw. America hummed in contentment, stretching and then resettling. It was a knock that finally broke the silence in the room. Three sharp knocks echoed from the parlor and the sound of a cart being rolled in followed.

“Breakfast?” America asked.

“Bloody hell sounds like it.” England groaned as a knock sounded on his door. “Go away!”

“Guess it’s time to get up.”

“I have no plans to do so yet.”

“Gonna keep me here?” America teased, rolling a little so that England ended up half on top of him.

“You can do whatever you please.”

“It pleases me to be with you.”

“Well, I have plans to not leave this bed for awhile,” England said primly.

“Then neither do I.”

“I was hoping you would get up.”

“Tired of me already?” America joked, searching England’s face for an answer.

“I was thinking you could go grab the breakfast cart and bring it in here.” He rolled off America and flopped back into the oversized pillows.

“You could have just asked.” America leaned over and kissed him before climbing off the bed and walking out into the parlor to fetch the cart.

“Good job, love.” England called after him.

America reappeared, pushing the cart up against the edge of the bed. He climbed back in and stretched across England. “Happy now, darling?” “You are crushing me,” England grunted.

America pushed up on his elbows. “That so?”

“Very much so.” England stared up at him.

Adjusting his position, America settled so he was nose to nose with England. “Do you want me to get off?” He leaned forward and kissed him.

“Depends,” England drawled.

“On?” America asked.

“Depends on if there is something more tempting than tea for me?”

“Hmmm.” America moved off him so he could get back under the blankets. He slid his fingers beneath England’s pajama shirt, resting his hand on his belly. “Maybe I could think of something.” “Are you positive? I am desperate for my morning tea.”

“How desperate?” His fingers slid lower.

“Pretty desperate.” England exhaled, fingers moving up America’s arms and shoulders to tangle in his hair.

America smiled at him before leaning in for a kiss, his hand slipping into England’s pajama pants. “This is why I said no nightclothes!” England gasped against his mouth, words morphing into a moan. It had been far too long.

“But now I get to unwrap you.” America’s words trailed off as England’s fingers tightened in his hair. The fingers of his free hand teased the collar of England’s shirt, as he began to work him with the other. Fingernails scraped against his scalp as England gasped, knees drawing up, heels catching in the bed sheets.

“Alfred.” His voice caught in his throat as his back arched. He wouldn't last long like this. Slowly, America drew his hand away, moving back so that he could hook his fingers into the hem of England’s pajama pants and begin pulling them down his legs. They disappeared somewhere under the covers, along with America. His mouth was hot against England’s stomach and then he picked up where he left off.

Muffling his cry against his pillow, England's body grew taught, eyes snapping open before screwing shut, fingers scratching at the sheets for purchase. He barely had time to croak out a warning before his voice strained with a telltale moan. America pressed a kiss to the inside of his thigh before reappearing, laying his head on the pillow next to England’s. His cheeks were flushed and his hair completely askew from being underneath the blankets.

“Cheeky lil...” England panted with no venom. It was hard to be mad after something of that nature.

America wrapped him up in his arms and pulled him close to his body. He pressed his face into England’s neck. “Better than tea?” “Not quite what I had in mind but it will do,” he breathed.

“You’ll have to show me what you had in mind.” He kissed his collarbone.

“I want a cuppa,” England said firmly.

America chuckled, moving over him towards the breakfast cart. “If I let you have tea... will you show me?”

“And something to eat,” England chided. “I don't want to be interrupted by your stomach growling.”

America rolled his eyes, but lifted the tray off the cart and settled it onto the bed between them. He immediately poured a cup of coffee and added a copious amount of cream. He was just starting on a large scoop from the sugar bowl when he noticed England’s stare. He just gave him a smile, before taking a large sip.

“Did you perhaps want some coffee with your cream and sugar?” England asked flatly.

“It’s good this way,” America insisted, beginning to investigate the food that had been brought. He plucked up a piece of bacon.

“So you like sugar not coffee, the truth finally comes to light.” England leaned back on his elbows.

“I like both. Better when they are together. Like you consider tea at all if it doesn’t have sugar in it.” America picked up one of the pastries on the plate.

“I drink it plain plenty!” England protested.

“Except when I put ice in it.” America stretched out on his back.

“That is a crime against humanity.” England frowned, picking up a piece of toast.

America rolled his eyes. “Hyperbole, sweetheart. I’ll get you to enjoy it one day, that’s a guarantee.”

England snorted. “I highly doubt it. I'll like it when you like a good ol’ cuppa.”

America wrinkled his nose. “When pigs fly.”

“Who knows that might be very soon,” England said flatly.

“We’ll see when that day comes. And a pig on an airplane doesn’t count,” America teased.

“You can't put out specifications after you said it already, Alfred.” England pointed at him with his spoon and a shake of his head.

“Since when?” America picked up another spoon and tapped the one England was brandishing at him.

“Thank the heavens you were too young for proper dueling.” England smacked Alfred's spoon away before setting his own down.

“I’m a fair shot with a dueling pistol, probably a good thing that’s gone out of fashion too.” America settled his spoon down to refocus on the pastries. “So, how do you think we should celebrate when one of your royalty marries an American?” He gave him a teasing grin.

“War prep,” England droned.

“Oh?” America chuckled. “I think it would be nice. You told me a long time ago that we should arrange a marriage... for political ties I think you said? Or do you only like me when I’m bringing you lots of money with my heiresses?” “Yes... I did say that didnt I?” England eyed the platter for a moment before green eyes settled on America without a word.

“You did. So, how would we celebrate?” He smiled at him, his eyes meeting England’s. He stretched out his arm and settled down against the bed sheets. “I think... roses would have to be the flower.” “Blue roses,” England conceded, taking a bite of toast.

“Blue would be a nice color, if you could get them from that garden of yours. Only place I’ve ever seen ‘em. Big party or small one?” “Small.”

“I like that, I wouldn’t have to share you with too many other people.” He grinned at England’s flush. “What should I wear? Blue waistcoat?” “probably. One matching mine of course.” England crossed his legs as he leaned back to eye the other.

America leaned up to get the breakfast tray and move it back onto the cart. From his position at the foot of the bed, he reached over and rested his hand on England’s leg beneath the blankets as he stretched out. “Hmm, long coats too. Be old-fashioned about it.” “For goodness sake you want a crown while you are at it?” England snorted.

“Do I look like royalty to you?” America teased.

“Absolutely not.” England scoffed. “I would have to carry a fairly large pocket watch to make sure you were on time for things.” “Well then, I suppose I wouldn’t need a crown. You know what would be fun to do after the party?” He pushed himself up, coming up so he could lean beside England on the pillows.

“I believe I will regret asking... but what would be fun?”

“We could go out to the country and be all alone. Pretend to know what it’s like.”

England laughed. “You think that's possible after a royal wedding?”

“This is a fantasy, we can do whatever we want.” America leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Or heck, if you prefer we can pretend to know what it’s like to be married in the palace if you’d prefer.” England's nose wrinkled. “I thought we were talking about how we would celebrate a wedding between two of our own citizens.”

“We are. I think it would be fun...” He glanced at England and then looked away. “Or not.” He shrugged, the scooted to the edge of the bed. “I should take a shower or something.” England frowned. “What's with the sudden change in attitude?”

Sighing, America leaned back, stretching his arms over his head in a stretch. He looked up at England. “Can we pretend that anything is possible? Just for a little while?” England sighed. “I remember this game. Fine. Yes.”

“Okay.” America smiled at him and came back to his side. “Tell me a story, Arthur, how would it be?”

“If we were royals?” He leaned back.

“Yeah, and we were getting married.”

“Well... first of all, it would be a peasant marrying a royal... so some kind of arcane magic... like marks of the royal family appearing on parts of the body... something that didn't pop up until adulthood or what not... and the sex of the king or queen wouldn't matter... all dependant upon the mark... doesn't necessarily have to be royalty either. Fate could chose whomever.” England hummed in thought. “I would be royal though. Luck of the draw and what not.” “It would be luck because you’d get me.” America leaned his head on England’s shoulder. “So I’m the peasant coming to crash your palace, huh? Do I ask you to marry me or do you ask?” “Well, we would have to be married regardless. It would be pointless to propose.”

“Doesn’t mean we couldn’t ask. Do we love each other in this other world?”

England flushed. “Well, I... that's for much further down the road. We would be facing a war on the horizon no doubt.”

“But I would save the day. You wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

England snorted again. “Oh don’t even, I can tell exactly what you are thinking. You would not be King.”

“Why not? I think you would make a good Queen,” America replied, nudging England with his elbow.

“Well, a king is nothing without a solid queen for it is the queen that actually gets everything done in the background so that would make sense,” he deadpanned.

“It’s settled then. I’ll win the war and you can keep the trains running on time.” England didn’t respond right away, looking thoughtful. America leaned up away from him so he could watch his face. “Right? Happy ending?” “I would say no.” England shook his head.

“Why not?” America asked. “The king is a hero.”

“Only fools think the king does it alone,” England said firmly. Settling back down, America pressed himself up against England’s side, lifting him a little so he could wrap his arms around him.

“I didn’t say that. I just... why can’t we have a happy ending?”

“Manhandling,” England murmured, but offered no further protest as he turned towards him. “I didn't say no to that just no to the thought that you would be fighting alone.” “You can back me up,” America said, brushing his fingers across England’s cheek.

“I guess someone would have to run the kingdom while you run around.” England heaved a sigh, a small smile lifting his lips when he looked at him.

“As long as you share when I get back.” America smiled back, leaning in for a soft kiss. Humming again the slighter nation allowed the kiss, leaning into it with familiarity and ease.

“We would have to adopt.”

“You really want a child?” America asked, adjusting his hold on England. “I guess I never really thought about it.”

“Of course you wouldn't. You are young and with nothing to compare it to.”

“I guess not.” America was quiet for a moment. “It all sounds nice. Being married. Having a family. Even if it is just a story.” “That's what stories are good for.”

“They are.” America smiled at him. “Should we pretend? No one should be expecting us.” America brushed his lips against England’s.

“That all of it is true?” England glanced at the ties holding back the tapestry and smiled waving at them. Little fae giggled from their post and they yanked the curtains from their blinds allowing them to fall shut.

“Yes,” America said, a confused expression crossing his face as the curtains fell closed. “How...?”

“You’re going to worry about the bed curtains now?” England arched a brow. “You’re proving to be a terrible King if you can’t satisfy your Queen.” Turning back to him, America smiled and put his hand on England’s cheek. “Some satisfaction coming right up.” He leaned in for a kiss, hands sliding over England’s skin.

“You are such a brat.” England groaned rolling his eyes, but returned the kiss with a smile. It was a simple fantasy, but the thought stuck all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Otakuashels and I really like this chapter. It's such a sweet little interlude!
> 
> Next time on Tangled and Tied: A Thanksgiving dinner with a family that might just be important to America's future. A parade. And a trip to a certain kind of speakeasy in New York.
> 
> If you're enjoying our story please leave us a comment or a kudo!


	12. Turkeys and Cocktails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England arrives just in time for the first Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and discovers a surprising, but welcome, side of an American nightclub.

_November 27, 1924_

_New York City_

“Bloody cold,” England muttered as he stepped out of the cab, the cabbie rushing around to unload his bags from the back. England peered up at the tall building that America’s downtown apartment was in. Clutching the scarf tightly around his neck as a wind buffeted down the street, he shuddered. “Damn Yank, it's too cold for this.” He followed the doorman who had run out to grab his bags. America better be here!

As the doorman sent up a call, he could hear America’s voice on the other end of the line. “He would like you to stay here, sir. He says he’s coming down.” England squinted at him, but he could hear the sound of the lift going up to the upper floors. Tapping his shoe, he waited for America to appear. 

The lift wasn’t even settled against the bottom of the shaft before the gate was being flung open and America spilled out. He was dressed to go back outside, much to England’s concern. “Arthur, c’mon! You’ve got perfect timing to come with me.” He tipped his hat at the doorman who said he would take England’s luggage upstairs, and took England by the elbow, propelling him back out into the street.

“Manhandling!” England squawked. “Outside again!? I just got inside! Where are we going?” 

“To 145th. The Macy’s Store is doing a Christmas Parade, it’s been all over the newspapers.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “And we’ve only got twenty minutes before it starts. We’ll catch a trolley. Should be one arriving a block over any minute now.” He kept hold of England’s coat as he started a brisk pace down the street.

“Do stop dragging me,” England warned, his irritation growing. He hadn't even gotten a proper hello.

“Then keep up! We shouldn’t be late!” The trolley was filled as he pulled England on to it, cramming into the back of the warm space. “I was worried you were going to miss it. I mean, I would have tried to leave leftovers for you, but I couldn’t promise it.”

“Leftovers? What are you talking about?” England scowled. “A hello would be nice to start with.”

“Aren’t you here for Thanksgiving? I called you about it, they said they would give you the message.” America looked at him expectantly. They were jostled as a few more people got on at the next stop, pressing into a corner. In the crush of bodies, America found England’s hand and squeezed it in his gloved fingers. “And hello.” He gave England a silly grin. 

“Yes, which is why I was expecting something to walk in to a hot cuppa and something to eat not being dragged down the street.” 

“That’s later, the stores are kicking off Christmas season with a bang,” America said, making his way back towards the door with England’s hand in his, invisible in the crowds. “We’ll get off at this stop.” England could see it now, a people four and five deep lined up along the street ahead.

“I can see that.” England squinted against the winter sunlight reflecting off the buildings and all the Christmas decorations swarming the streets amongst the crowds. “Alfred...” 

America paused when England tugged on the back of his coat. “What?” England watched him for a moment but shook his head.

“Never mind it can wait. Lead the way to whatever this is.” 

America smiled at him and they found a spot on the street with the rest of the crowd. At 9 am they could hear the sound of marching bands. Floats themed as fairy tales came around the street corner. Hidden in the tight space, America kept his hand wrapped up with England’s. 

“There are so many people here.” England sniffed and hugged his scarf tight. 

“Of course! It’s been talked about for weeks! Look, Santa Claus!” The parade had been brief, only the length of two blocks. Peering over shoulders, England could see the store employees dressed in costumes waving at the end of the procession. 

“Oh, you mean Father Christmas.” England craned his neck to see what America was referring to. At the end of the parade there was a large float appearing to be a mountain of ice. A man in a red suit waved to children from a top his sleigh being pulled by a reindeer. 

“See!?” He leaned against England’s side. 

“Yes, yes.” England shook his head in amusement. 

America was grinning, his cheeks pink from the cold. He’d forgotten a scarf in his excitement. “Do you want breakfast? There’s also an event at the store we could go to.” 

“Breakfast sounds lovely.” England shook his head. “You need to get earmuffs.”

“Didn’t want to miss the parade. And I know a place for breakfast, unless you’d rather go back to my apartment?”

“We are out we might as well stay out.” He shook his head. 

“Probably a good call, because once we are in I plan to stay in.” America smiled at him and began herding England down the block. They walked three blocks back towards America’s house to find a little cafe. It was fairly full, but they were able to squeeze into a table near the front window.

“This is a national holiday, right? I am surprised anything is open," England commented as he slipped into his seat. 

“Well, when you’re far away from your family...” America shrugged, gesturing to the people in the restaurant. They were mostly young men. A rare day off from the factories. “Anyway, more shops opened because of the events.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” England shrugged and pulled off his gloves, placing them into his coat pockets. “So what's their speciality?”

“Omelettes and a mean cup of coffee.” America laughed as England gave him a hard stare. “I’ll ask about tea.”

“Thoughtful.” England sniffed and turned to watch the people going up and down the sidewalk. Chin propping in his hand he watched as children tugged excitedly on their parents sleeves and couldn't help but smile. Every generation was the same in the large scheme of things.

America hopped up and went to order for them, chatting with someone at the counter. It was only a few minutes before he returned with two warm plates of food. “Bud is looking into the tea for you. He thinks they’ve got a tin in the back.” He watched England’s face for a moment. “You look wistful.” 

Turning from the window England glanced at the plate before looking back at America. “I'm not sure quite sure what you mean.” 

“It’s just... I like that look you get when you’re around families.” He smiled at him. England’s stare was flat. 

“Aren't you the one who accused me of being a terrible parent?” 

America pinked. “That’s not what I said. You were extreme, either too much or not enough. But now that we’re... well, I think the others didn’t have it like me.” Coughing, America looked out the window too. 

Sighing, England picked up his knife and fork, cutting into the omelet with ease before changing subject. “So, what are we doing after this?” 

“Well, we could go look around the shops or go see about things to do in Central Park. We have to be at the Roosevelts at three for dinner.” 

“We are going to dine with your president’s family?” England stopped before taking a bite and lowered his fork. 

“Nah, Teddy died about five years ago. I was sure he was gonna try to live forever. And Calvin invited me, but I wanted to be here,” America said. “You haven’t met these Roosevelts.” 

“So...” He set his fork down. “We won't be seeing your president at all today?” 

“Well, I have a feeling that FDR might make a go of it someday, but no.” 

England frowned. “So who exactly are we meeting?”

“They are a prominent family. He’s Teddy’s cousin, and Mrs. Roosevelt is Teddy's niece. You know how it is with rich families, everyone’s only a few marriages apart. Anyway, Democrats. I ran into Mrs. Roosevelt the other day and she invited me. I mean... she’d probably make sure I got fed anyway if we wanted to be elsewhere.” America nudged England’s knee under the table. “Do you want to go back to my place?” 

“I thought you wanted to go shopping. And we can't cancel plans that would be rude.” 

“You’re the guest who hasn’t had Thanksgiving before. It’s up to you. I can tell them it’s top secret and can’t tell them why I’m cancelling.” 

England shook his head. “It's all right... we can... wait until our next visit.” He leveled America with a look, chewing on his bottom lip as if contemplating something that couldn't be said in public. 

America watched him, biting into his last piece of toast. “Why not this visit?” 

“You have plans.” He leaned back in his chair with a small smile. “Let's keep to schedule.”

America tilted his head. “Let’s go then.” They gathered up their coats and made their way into New York City among the crowds, getting lost among storefronts until they wandered into Central Park, pulling their coat collars up against the cold weather. 

“you always complain about the cold and now you are willingly putting us out in it. Who are you and what have you done with Alfred?” He tightened his scarf before fishing around in his coat pocket and pulled out his cigarette case. 

The path was quiet, people off in the distance, but no one immediately close by. “Maybe I wanted an excuse to get you alone.” America gave him a grin. “I should take you to a speakeasy while you’re here. We can be upstanding by day and then take a walk on the wild side at night.” 

“A speakeasy?” He struck a match and lit his cigarette before extending the box out of courtesy “Fag?”

America took one, putting it between his lips. “Yeah. I even know one where I could drink with you, dance with you, and no one would even bat an eyelash.” 

England stared at him. “When did you start smoking?” 

“I thought about it during the war, but I never did.” America leaned forward. “You gonna light it or not?” 

England scowled and pulled the stick from his mouth with a snap of his wrist. “No.” 

Blinking at him, America straightened up. He glanced up and down the path and stepped forward to adjust England’s scarf. His fingers were pink from the cold. “So... about that drink later, you in?” 

He exhaled, smoke curling into the air. “I might have brought clothes for that.” 

America grinned, his fingers brushing against England’s cheek for just a moment. In the distance a clock chimed. “We better not be late for dinner.” 

“I'm still not sure who we are meeting, but let us be on our way then.” 

“Just some political, rich people,” America teased. “That I’ve got a feeling about.” They made their way through the city, hailing a cab to take them uptown.

 “If you say so.” England nodded and climbed into the cab after him. “Thanksgiving, huh?” 

“Yeah, I mean the stories about the origin have been embellished over the years. Kinda a lot, but... it’s about being with family.” America glanced at him. “From the early settlers you know. The pilgrims.” 

“The Puritans,” England corrected. “Trust me I know. I was there,” he said dryly. 

“I remember. You got yourself lost.” America smiled at him. “Just be nice, eat food. You’ll like Eleanor. She’s clever. Just don’t stare at FDR’s chair. He hates that. And their kids should be around.” 

England snorted. “Don't act as if I have no class... how many kids?” 

“Uh... five. The youngest is eight. Anna, she’s the oldest, is eighteen.” 

“So they are older?” England nodded and peered out the window as they moved from commercial to residential. Apartments that were crammed close gave way to elegant townhouses and then to freestanding buildings. “Well, let's meet this family.” 

They pulled up in front of a large house, America hopping out and making his way to the door first. He rang the bell and a servant ushered them inside. “Alfred Jones, I don’t know why I expected you to be late.” 

America smiled at the woman. “Hey, if you could come over here than the least I could do was be on time. Eleanor, let me introduce Arthur Kirkland. He’s from England. Arthur, this is Eleanor Roosevelt.” 

“Mrs. Roosevelt, it's a pleasure.” England smiled and took her hand to press a kiss to the back of it. Straightening, he gestured to the front entry. “You have a lovely home. Thank you ever so much for having me.” 

“You should work on Alfred’s manners a little,” she said, America laughing at her statement. 

“He’s tried.” He glanced at England. 

“I am afraid that is a war I have been waging for years with little success ma'am.” England shook his head. “But nevertheless I shall endure.” 

She looked at him. “I would wager a few centuries is the more accurate measure. You two can sit with me, tell me stories.” 

They followed her into the dining room where the meal was promptly served. Fashionable dishes poured in, America leaning over to tell him that the entire event was more or less a work in progress. The states couldn’t even agree on the same date to hold it. 

England had been caught off guard. He hadn't expected this family to know about him. About them. His fingers tightened on his fork. Not even all of parliament knew who, or better what, he was. This was shocking and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He stared hard at America with lips firmly pressed together as chatter fluttered about them. 

“What?” America leaned over, whispering to him. As England continued to stare, he added, “She’s my old boss’s niece. She knows about me and guessed about you. No one else knows.” 

England scooped up a forkful of mashed potatoes and took a bite, but said nothing as his mouth was full. America should have warned him. His eyes flicked to their host who was watching them. Franklin D. Roosevelt was not known to him but he knew the family, even if distantly.Political connections. 

“I feel like I’ve seen you before Mr. Kirkland. I was attached to a diplomatic attache in England several years ago. Unfortunately, Mr. Churchill did not think much of my contributions. He seems to have made a large place for himself in your government.” 

England chewed thoughtfully gazing at him. He wanted to kick Alfred off of the chair for not introducing him properly. “Well yes... if you met Mr. Churchill then that is a possibility.” He nodded. 

“You are in politics then. Jones, I’m surprised considering you are not very serious about it at all,” Roosevelt said. 

“I take politics very seriously,” teased America, throwing England a look. “Especially Anglo-American relations.” 

“Not seriously enough it appears.” England took a drink from his wine glass. 

America looked at him for a moment longer. In the time it took, it drew many of the conversations to other topics. Beneath the table, America touched England’s knee. He eagerly engaged in a conversation about a new play. 

England cut into the pie as it was handed around the table. He listened quietly to the conversations that swelled around the table. He was content with just listening to them. 

The meal completed, America thanked them for their hospitality, turning down the offer to stay later. “He’s been traveling, we’re headed back.” A chorus of ‘happy thanksgiving’ followed them out into the evening.

England shivered as they darted from the cab and into the lobby of Americas apartment. “Oh finally.” He sighed as they piled into the lift. Hiding a yawn in his scarf, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m glad you came,” America said, not much more he could say in the presence of the elevator attendant. As soon as they were on his floor, America fished his key out of his pocket and opened the door. He ushered England inside with a hand at the small of his back. 

“Today has been very long.” He yawned again, unwinding his scarf. The apartment entry was wide, gilded frames on paintings and photographs. Far more lavish than anything America usually had. As he kicked off his shoes, he could feel the quality of the carpet through his socks. “This is a very nice place.” Shiny. Colorful.

“I made some changes. It’s very modern now.” America put his coat on the rack and took England’s. “Wanna hit the hay?” 

“Yes, that sounds lovely.” England rubbed at the back of his neck. He had been traveling four days and then had been drug around without a chance to take a breather. 

America’s arms wrapped around him and his lips were warm on the back of England’s neck. “Thank you.” 

“Thank you for what?” England peered back at him. 

“For coming. When your ship got delayed I thought you wouldn’t make it in time or be way too tired to come out with me.” He squeezed him lightly around the middle. “I’m happy.” 

England hummed. “Of course. I said I would.” He leaned back against him. “Very plush carpet,” he commented digging his toes into the thick carpet. 

“Sometimes I just want to stretch out on it.” He kissed the side of his head. “But bed sounds good, too. Maybe tomorrow.” 

“Bed sounds much better.” He nodded and glanced around the entry to see his luggage. “I am going to wash up before turning in.” 

“One second.” America tilted England’s chin up, kissing him. It was soft, brief. “Okay, you can go wash up now.” 

“You've been outside in the crowds all day and in the streets.” He moved away, then paused. “Where even is the water closet? I've never been to this flat.”

America smiled at him. “It’s this way.” He took England by the arm and led him through the front hall and through the bedroom. The bathroom floor was done in small black and white tiles, the faucets shining. “Top of the line.” 

“You really didn't spare any expense.” England whistled. “Finally it seems you have garnered the appreciation for the fine things in life.” 

“I’ve felt like spending money lately. I take it you like it?” America smiled at him. “Bath or shower? I’ll show you how the plumbing works.” 

“A bath sounds divine.” 

“That’s an easy one.” America went over to the deep bathtub tucked against one wall. He turned on the taps. “The boilers in this building are way better than my old place. It’ll be hot in no time.” 

“Not as large as my bath at home, but it'll do just fine.” England set his luggage on the floor and pulled at his tie until it loosened. He pulled it over his head, dropping it in the sink as America filled the bath with water. Slipping the suspenders off his shoulders and undoing the buttons with practiced ease, England had his shirt undone in no time. America straightened, finally satisfied with the water temperature, as England was just undoing the first button of his trousers. 

America stepped forward, fingers resting lightly on his own. “Want help with that?” 

“Well, I am rather tired and you are being a rather good host.” England grinned. “I suppose.” He pulled his hands away. 

America smiled, leaning forward to kiss the corner of England’s grin. His fingers worked at the buttons, hands finding the soft skin of England’s hips as the fabric slid down over his legs, his undergarments quickly following. Shrugging out of his shirt, England stepped out of his trousers and closer into America's space, leaving no room between them. Reaching up he pulled America down into another kiss. A full kiss. 

America kissed him back, arm wrapping around England’s waist tugging him slightly off balance. His other hand slid up the length of England’s back to rest at the back of his head. The room began to fill with steam, America’s clothes getting damp as he kept England close. 

“My bath water is going to go cold,” England murmured dropping his head back with a sigh of approval as America's teeth found his pulse. 

“Let’s get you in there then.” America adjusted his hold and lifted him from the floor. He leaned down near the tub, settling England against it. The squeak of the handles stopped the water, the bathroom becoming quiet. England put his hand in the water testing the temperature. “How does it feel?” America asked, pressing a kiss to England’s collar bone. 

“Extremely hot. Just the way I like it. Thanks, love.” England kissed him again before swinging around and stepping inside. America watched him for a moment, smiling. Then he stood up, shrugging out of his suspenders and starting on the buttons of his shirt.

Sinking into the tub with a large sigh England draped his arms over the side of the tub, lifting one foot out of the water to examine it before lowering it and turning his attention the American. America's large hands unbuttoned the tiny buttons, revealing skin to England’s gaze. Eyeing the young blond’s long legs he crossed his own, pleased to have the other male making his way into the tub, but reluctant to give up the space. 

America stood by the tub, looking down at England’s body leaving little room for him. He seemed to reach a decision, stepping into the tub over England’s legs. He settled his knees to either side of England’s hips. 

“Are you going to squish me?” 

“I’m tempted sometimes, but not tonight.” He leaned forward and kissed him. “Lean forward and I’ll get in behind you.” 

“What if I don't want you behind me?” The question came out suddenly, surprising the English nation. “Never mind.” England coughed into his arm and scooted forward. “Hurry up.” 

America didn’t move from his spot, his hand on England’s cheek. “No, tell me what you want.” His fingers curled around the back of England’s neck. When England looked away, America leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “This is why I had the bath designed with the spigot to the side.” He leaned back, picking up England’s ankles, so he could settle against the other end of the tub, settling England’s feet across his legs. His pressed his thumb into the arch of England’s foot. 

England winced, fingers curling around the edge of the tub for a moment before letting out a breath and dropped his head back on the rim of the tub. “Okay,” he exhaled. “What do you want?” 

“Probably the same thing you want.” He brushed his fingers against England’s ankle bone. “I haven’t seen you since the wedding. And right now, I’ve had you by my side all day... and I’ve controlled myself pretty well, I think.” 

“Yes, you treated me like a brother,” England drawled, so pleased to get another footrub he would concede to nearly get anything. 

“That’s not gonna happen tomorrow when we go out.” America smiled at him as England relaxed beneath his fingers. 

“We will still be in public, there is public decency,” England warned, eyes remaining closed. 

America hit a spot on England’s foot, drawing a groan from England’s mouth. “We’ll see.” 

“Is that a challenge?” He looked up at him with an arched brow. 

“No. I have plans.” America grinned at him, his damp hair curling over his forehead.

“My plans don't extend past tonight.” He eyed America. “You went all out with the bathroom, did that extend to the bedroom as well? Satin sheets and all that?” 

“Special for you, sweetheart, you’ll like it.”

England snorted quietly, sinking further into the tub as the water began to cool. “I'll be the judge of that.” 

The water sloshed as America scooted forward, leaning over England and smiling. “I’ll be looking forward to it.” He pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“Well, let's make it-” He yawned. “Quick. I'm getting cold.” 

America stood up, padding across the bathroom for towels. He brought one to England, wrapping it around his shoulders when he stood up out of the tub. England wrapped the towel tightly and carefully stepped out of the tall tub, dragging the towel down his body to dry off. It occurred to him that his clothing was in the other room and he wrapped the towel around his waist and gestured for America to lead the way. 

America reached for his hand, taking him into the room. It was dark in the room, furniture highlighted by lights on the streets below. Leading him over to the bed, America guided England’s hand to the sheets. “What do you think?” 

“I think that your bed is bigger than mine, I'm surprised you didn't go with a four poster.” He peered at the large headboard, dark mahogany that contrasted the bright walls and carpet. He pulled off the towel and draped it over the bedpost at the foot of the bed. 

“Wanted to go with modern.” America stepped forward. “Got any energy left? Or all the food getting the better of you?” America put his hands on England’s waist. 

“Depends on what?” England yawned. 

America laughed. “I guess I’ll keep that thought for tomorrow. Let’s go to bed.” America wrapped an arm around England’s waist as he pulled the sheets down. 

“That sounds lovely.” England smiled and slipped into the blankets, burying in them with a groan of satisfaction. “Finally. Even in first class those ship beds are awful.” 

“Glad they meet your standards,” America chuckled, sliding into the bed beside him and pulling the blankets up. He pulled England into his arms and settled into the pillows. 

“Now if you can master a cup of tea in the morning...” England hummed and turned to press his nose into the hollow of America’s throat. It felt nice, wonderful to once again not be in a large bed alone and to have another, just one other, back in the sheets with him. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the others smell.

 America chuckled. “It’s the thought that counts.” The laugh turned into a yawn. “See you in the morning.” 

“Disappointing, Alfred.”

 “Hmmm? Disappointing?”

 “A disappointing way to send one off to bed.” 

“Well, I can think of a few things.” His hand slid down England’s back, the other tilting up his chin for a kiss. England all but melted into the embrace, a soft noise of pleasure from the back of his throat. Kissing the other back a wash of warmth slid from his chest and into his limbs, the Englishman pliant against the other. 

“I'm intrigued for tomorrow,” he murmured, kissing the other until sleep took its hold. 

*** 

America held his breath when he woke up. England’s sleeping breath fanned out against his chest, England’s right arm and leg loosley flung over America’s middle. In just a slight shift, England’s hold would tighten. America didn’t want to wake him, even as the blurry outline of the clock said it was well past nine in the morning. He squinted at it, wondering if it was his just due to his glasses being out of reach. No matter, he thought. He didn’t intend to get out of bed quickly. They would be up late, so they should take it easy. He also did not plan to get out of bed with England wrapped around him. He stroked England’s side, as much of him as he could reach, smiling as England leaned into his fingers in his sleep. 

“Is it time already?” England grumbled, stretching and popping his back. 

“No, we have all day.” America pressed his nose into England’s hair, rolling against him and pressing him into the mattress. 

“We aren't going out anymore?” England mumbled as his cheek pushed against the pillow. 

“Can’t exactly go to an illegal establishment in the middle of the day, but... I suppose I could show you around. We could go for a drive. Find you somewhere to get a cup of tea.” America leaned his head forward to press a kiss to England’s collarbone. 

“A cup of tea sounds lovely, although going out into the cold sounds absolutely dreadful.” 

“Like I said we have all day. We can’t head to the speakeasy until after dark.” America stretched out against him. “We could stay here, enjoy my amenities.”

“Amenities, hmm?” England cracked one eye open to look at him. “Pray tell what those are?” 

“Well, a big one is this bed with you in it. Another is privacy, no politicians or bureaucrats are gonna get past the people downstairs.” America ran his hand down England’s thigh. “I also have a new radio. Some records. A very nice rug in the living room.” 

“A very nice rug?” England snorted quietly.

“What? I like it.” He pressed a kiss beneath England’s jaw. “I’d like it even more with you on it.”

“Oh,” England exhaled in surprise. He hadn’t expected that out of the conservative male. Reaching around he ran his fingers through the others hair, scratching at his scalp. 

“When you can’t make it even this far tonight...” America kissed him, his fingers squeezing England’s hip. 

“What do you mean make it?” England breathed, leg hooking over the other’s bare hip. Finally, it seemed like America was learning. 

“When you want me so bad, we will barely make it in the door.” America rocked forward, their bodies pressing together. His teeth grazed England’s throat.

“Y-You have gotten cocky,” England gasped, fingers tangling in his hair to pull him up for a kiss, and his free hand pulled the blanket over their heads as if to seal the deal. 

*** 

_That night..._  

America sat on the couch, leaning over the arm and staring at his bedroom door. “Arthur, I’ve seen you wear practically everything. If you think you are going to surprise me...” He trailed off as the door opened. 

“Did you ever think that I maybe just wanted a moment of privacy, Alfred?” England snapped leaning against the door frame. Coffee colored pants with pressed creases only seemed to compliment his slim legs before being topped off with a forest green shirt that tapered in on the narrow waist, almost feminine in angle. The matching brown suspenders were stark against the crisp shirt and it was all tied together by the green and yellow deco cube pattern tie,tied off in a Windsor knot. The more clashing colors a young man wore the more fashionable he was.

England's brows furrowed in confusion as the other stared at him. His hair has been slicked back from his forehead and smoothed back behind his ears. “What?” he fiddled with the loud rose cufflinks in his sleeves. 

“You look... I almost don’t want to share you.” 

England frowned and straightened to walk into the room. “But I just got dressed and you've been besides yourself about this speakeasy since yesterday.” 

“That’s why I said almost.” America got up, revealing his dark brown trousers and blue shirt, rolled up at the wrists. “We have to be casual until we get there. Don’t want to get busted tonight.” He bounded towards the door and pulled England’s coat off the rack along with his hat. 

“Since we are doing illegal things.” England chewed on his bottom lip, contemplating possible outcomes. 

“Several. But that’s part of why it’s so fun.” America grinned at him, pulling on his own coat. “A trip to the lockup is not gonna happen because I know what I’m doing. Relax and enjoy the ride.”

“Breaking the law, here we go.” England shook his head and put his hat on. “Well, I have no idea what is going on or where. So lead the way.” 

They made their way through the streets, flashes of other people going about their business. Women laughed and the rumble of men’s voices amongst the motor cars had a music of their own. They had gone several blocks, when America hooked his arm in his elbow and pulled him into an alley. “You ready?” 

“I feel like I am about to be mugged, so not particularly, but let's get to it.” 

“You’ve got me. I’ll protect you.” He pushed his hat back slightly and pulled England further down the alley. A few men milled around, one or two looking at them appraisingly. Stopping in front of a nondescript door, America knocked. The man asked a question and America answered. The door opened and they stepped through into a narrow hallway. America took England’s hand, tugging him deeper into the building. 

Music could be heard, echoing up a stairwell, horns and a piano playing an upbeat tune that could quicken any heartbeat. They entered in a cloud of cigarette smoke, the band at the far end of the room. England’s eyes were drawn to the dance floor and the realization that America was right. No one would notice them at all. All of the couples were men. “Wanna drink?” America asked, shrugging out of his coat. 

“Um, yes... gin on the rocks.” He shrugged out of his coat as well and hung it amongst several other on the wall. He couldn't help look around uncomfortably. Affection between himself and his lovers was something that had been immensely common during his privateering days, but that was long behind him. And that was with France and Spain. Not America. He didn't know these men and they were not shy it seemed. “Make it a double.” 

America guided him over to the bar and ordered, laying his hand in the center of England’s back. “Gotta make sure everyone knows that you’re here with me.” 

England snorted and took the drink from the bartender. Him catching anybody's eye was amusing. Leaning against the bar, he rolled the drink around before taking a sip. The idea was laughable. He glanced at the dance floor before shaking his head and turning back to his drink. 

*** 

Sipping at his own drink, America watched England out of the corner of his eye. He was out of his element and America couldn’t look away. Seeing England not entirely confident in the situation was completely new. It made his heart beat faster. 

The music ebbed in and out, the musicians taking a break while another set took the stage. These were less upbeat, more warm and sensual. America wrapped his arm around England’s waist, leaning close to his ear. “Dance with me?”

“Really?” He stared at him over his shoulder. “Dance like that?” He glanced at the floor. “In front of people? Are you mad?”

_It had been dark, the rain hitting the top of the tent in a way that set their nerves on edge. Even more because they didn’t know where the others were. That was why they started talking. “Mon dieu! I am not listening to this for another century,” France said, snatching the flask back from America’s hand and taking a long draw. “He’s never going to meet you halfway.”_  

_America frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”_  

_“Alfred, you asked me a long time ago about whether you could be an empire and an empire with him. I’ll admit that I thought you were insane at the time, but now? If you want Arthur to see you as an equal you need to act like it.”_

_“I am.”_  

_“No, you need to stop asking for permission.”_  

“No one knows who we are. Follow my lead.” He tugged slightly at England’s waist. 

“I-” England hesitated, but downed his glass and allowed America to pull him onto the floor. “Alfred, I have not been keeping up with the newest dances.” He glanced at the others around them, being drawn to a man who was unabashedly staring at him from the wall, eyeing him as if he was considering something. 

_“I...” America hesitated, not wanting to give France any more fuel for the fire. He leaned back on his bunk. “That works?”_

_“It’s far easier to submit to him since it’s what he’s comfortable with. It’s what he likes, but you seem fond of challenging him.”_

_America fiddled with a cigarette he’d been carrying around in his pocket, it smelled like England. He could picture England when he loosened up, let him in. “It’s not what he likes.”_

_“_ It’s just for us, doesn’t have to be perfect. Look at me.” He put his hand on England’s cheek, drawing his gaze back. He shot a warning look at the man who was taking far too keen of an interest.

“All right-” England frowned. “You are very close for being in public.” He seemed distracted, looking at the others in the club. 

“It’s the way to dance these days. Trust me?” America was glad England wasn’t looking directly at him. His voice had wavered! He tried to tell it to him silently, pulling him into the first steps. 

“I-” He glanced back at the man for a moment before looking up at America, it was like he could see his nerves! “Are you all right?” 

“It’s just something someone said to me during the war. But I don’t want to think of that right now.” They began to dance, but England kept throwing glances. “Do you know him?” 

“No, I don’t think so. I don't know why he is watching.” 

“I’m going to tell him to knock it off. You’re with me.”

England's attention snapped back to America in surprise at the jealousy that had come out in his voice. “Alfred, don’t cause a scene. It will draw attention if it begins a fight. If he wants to stare, let him. I don't know why he is. Maybe he thinks he recognizes me. He'll get bored soon.” He inhaled deeply as America pulled him closer before spinning him until his back bumped against his chest. 

_“Well, it was. You didn’t know him when he was in his glory days of being an absolute...” France threw up his hands as if he couldn’t quite find the right words._

  _“Arthur’s a lot of things.” The rain pounded on the top of the tent, making it hard to concentrate. He sat up when he thought he heard the sound of heavy artillery in the distance, but the streak of lightning out the door revealed it was only thunder. “I just want him to trust me.”_  

_“Trust is not something that should come easy. Just act like an equal and see what comes of it.” France lay down on his own cot, closing his eyes._  

_“Matt likes little gestures.”_  

_“What?”_  

_“Being too obvious will just make him suspicious. Do little things for him and he’ll come around. Again.”_  

_“Thank you, I will consider it.”_  

_“I will too.”_  

America held an arm over England’s chest, possessive. “It’s not gonna be a scene.” He leaned down to England’s ear, lips brushing against it as he spoke over the music. “Let’s save him the embarrassment of coming over to ask you to dance.” 

*** 

England's hands settled on America's arm, wary with where this was going. “And how do you propose we do that love?” 

“Simple,” America said. “Keep your eyes on me as though you couldn’t imagine going home with any other man.”

“But I'm not going home with anyone else. My luggage is at your flat.” England frowned. Inside he was enamored. This wasn't like America to be so smooth. 

“No one else knows that.” He pressed a kiss to the back of England’s head as the song came to an end. 

“Another drink?” England touched America’s hand lightly. They hadn't really gotten any dancing, but England really wanted another drink. The energy of the place was beginning to slowly work its way through him with the help of the gin. But a scotch would help that so much more. 

“Sure. What do you want?” America asked as he followed England to the bar. He maintained his closeness, practically leaning over England to get the attention of the bartender. 

“Scotch on the rocks... double.” He peered up at Alfred with a smile. “Territorial, love.” He chuckled. America made a noise of agreement. 

*** 

_America leaned over the bunk, resting his elbows on the edge. “He took that blast pretty hard, I don’t know if he’ll remember. You should get some sleep, Alfred,” Canada said, putting his hand on America’s shoulder. America looked up at Canada from the mass of bandages that contained England._  

_“I’ll remember. I’m not gonna let this happen again.”_  

_“We can’t protect each other from everything.”_  

_“Everyone always tells me that I can’t do things. Then I do.”_  

_“It’s... Arthur isn’t yours to protect.”_  

_“Matt, go away.”_  

America squeezed England around the waist. “Need another drink or do you want to take another turn with me?” 

“Both.” England smiled and took the drink from the bartender,taking a deep drink. America held him, listening to the thrum of the music and letting the mood and the alcohol move through his limbs. “Are you ready?” England set his glass down, running his hands over the front of his shirt, as usual, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. 

“I’m always ready.” America pulled him back from the bar and took him back towards the dance floor. The jazz shifted, pulling them this way and that. 

England grinned, allowing America to guide him through the steps before he picked it up and began to push back. America gave a little, but didn’t let England take the lead. The dance heated America’s skin as England pressed up against him at some of the turns. 

“Careful or you won't be able to keep up, boy,” England taunted, the liquor boosting his confidence in the unfamiliar hall. 

“You keep doing that and I’ll...” America grinned. “I’m gonna force you to learn the Lindy Hop.” As the music picked up in tempo, America moved faster the energy of the song making its way into the steps.

“You force me?” England laughed and pulled from America with a grin.

“That’s right!” America laughed, eyes lighting up. He caught England by the wrist and pulled him back into his arms. “It’s fun, dance with me.”

“That's what I've been doing, git,” England snorted.

“Not like this, you gotta lift your feet more, let go of being prim and proper.” America spun him around, bringing his back against his chest. “Just feel it.” 

***

“Bossy,” England drawled and glanced back across the room. That man was still there. England felt a flash of irritation. This was getting annoying. 

The song came to an end, the two of them panting in each other’s arms. “Let’s take a break,” America said. There were tables pressed up against the walls, few were empty, but America managed to catch one as it was vacated. He pulled his stool around to sit by England’s side. “Maybe he’s gonna come try and ask me.” 

“Ask you what?” Between the dancing and the liquor England was feeling pleasantly warm. He leaned into America's space, suddenly feeling brave, pressing a kiss just beneath America's ear “Ask you what, Alfred?” 

“If I’ll dance with him. Know what I’ll say?” He hooked his fingers around England’s tie, turning to brush a soft kiss over his lips. It was hardly the boldest action in the room, but England’s breath caught regardless.

“You think he is staring at me to ask for you?” England turned his head in embarrassment.

“You saying I ain’t pretty enough?” America teased. “Maybe he’s measuring you up. Would you let him take me without a fight? I’d fight anyone who tried to take you from me.” 

“I can't say what I'd do.” That was a lie. England knew exactly how to light one on fire. He shrugged and turned his back to the other. “Well why don't you go ask him then?” 

America wrapped his arms around him and leaned his chin on England’s shoulder. “All right. Are you going to come with me?” 

“You are going to go?” England sniffed turning his head away as he slumped against the other, slipping himself strategically between the other man's thighs. There was an advantage to stools. And he knew what he was doing. 

“You’re the one who is curious.” America made no move to get up. His hold grew more possessive around England’s body.

“The attentive staring makes me wonder if he is a cop.” England shrugged, his own fingers tracing imaginary circles from America's knees and up. 

“A place gets raided and it just pops up somewhere else. The baker down the street is a bootlegger. Keeps the booze behind the flour bags.” America kissed England’s neck. “And I know a way out if they come in here whistles blowing.” 

“Sounds like you've been here plenty of times.” He didn't even bother to hide his suspicious tone.

“It’s my city, sweetheart, I could slip out of anywhere. And I like going to parties, been wanting to bring you to one where I can actually be this close to you.” 

“You sure he isn't one of your past dates and that's why he is staring?” 

*** 

_“I’m honestly surprised at you, Alfred. There are so many easier prospects than Arthur.”_  

_Cracking an eye open, America peered at France through the darkness. The rain still pattered on the canvas. He had been nearly asleep. “What?”_  

_“You could simply find someone else. I’ve heard talk of quite a few candidates. Maybe when Jett is older...”_  

_“Shut up! He follows me around camp like a puppy. He’s just a kid.”_  

_“_ Mon dieu, _no wonder you can’t recognize_ l’amour _in others. He follows you around the way you used to trail after Arthur.” France tapped his chin. “Or any of the nations that you have been allowing to spend suspicious amounts of time at your home...”_  

_“He does not! And I’mjust helping them out.” America frowned, looking up at the canvas and wondering how long it would hold up to the constant dampness. “And besides, I don’t want easy. I want Arthur.”_  

_***_  

“Nope, because the only one I’ve come here with is you.” 

“Good.” England sniffed and tried to stand up, grunting when he was prevented. “Alfred?” 

“Come with me.” 

“Come with you where?” 

“Somewhere a little more discreet.” He grinned at England, sliding off the stool. 

“I thought we were here to dance.” England frowned, he had gotten all jazzed up and America had only taken him to the floor once. 

“We are.” He leaned close. “I just really need to kiss you and I don’t want to share that with these other guys. We’ll just step out for a sec.” 

“And if I don’t want to step out?” England challenged. He really wanted to step out. 

America slipped his hands over England's shoulders hooking his fingers into his suspenders. “I guess I’ll have to drag you then.” 

“Oh dear... that wouldn't go well. And it's unbecoming of you to have a tantrum in the middle of this soiree. So I better come along.”

“Always better when you are willing.” He took England’s hand. “Follow me.” 

Heaving a large sigh England made a face at the younger as if he was being forced but followed easily behind him. They went past the bar, into a hallway England hadn’t noticed in the low lighting of the establishment. There were several doors leading off, but America merely pulled him around the bend. He grabbed England by the suspenders again, shoving him against the wall and kissing him. Gasping England grabbed America’s forearms. The stone wall was freezing against his back and his front was blazing hot against Americas body. His grunt was swallowed as America dominated him, forcing his head to tilt back as he kissed him harshly. Gooseflesh erupted over his body for more than one reason and England groaned in answer as long fingers grabbed his chin, shaking.

When he came up for air, America brushed his nose against England’s cheek. His own body trembled as his breaths came heavy. “Okay, I’m ready to dance again.” 

“You sure you want to go back in there?” England exhaled, his fingertips pressing into the buttons on America's shirt.

“If I kiss you again, we’re definitely at risk for getting arrested for public indecency.” His mouth hovered over England’s, his speaking causing air to skate across England’s lips. 

“You said you have ways of escaping…” He paused. “Right, love?” 

“Right.” He tugged at England’s shirt, dragging him upwards so that he was on his tiptoes. He kissed him again, body pressing England for an advantage. England grabbed America’s wrists, kissing him back hard as another thought came into his head. He pulled away from the kiss with a gasp. 

“You said you wanted to go dance, let's go dance then.” 

“Dance?” America’s mouth drifted to England’s neck, pressing a kiss at the open collar. “Isn’t that what we’re doing?” 

England's fingers curled about America's suspenders, a low moan slipping out of his throat. “Alfred...”

“Your tie is in the way...” America mumbled, fingers tangling in the knot. 

“Good, because we aren't staying here.” England grabbed his hand. 

America pulled back, a silly smile on his face. “I guess I got carried away. Do you want to dance or go home? Get another drink?”

“How about liquor and dancing then home to go to sleep?” England grinned. 

“Let’s do it.” America took his hand and led him back to the room, getting them both swept up again in the giddiness of jazz and free flowing alcohol.Whether it was the liquor or the energyof the club itself England felt an concerns he had with the evening and the situation melt away into nothing. He briefly wondered when they had actually stopped dancing dances of the time and when they had gone to just moving, America’s hands on his body like they couldn't stop. Organized dancing as a whole seemed to have evaporated in the club as a whole as the evening continued on, couples becoming inebriated and people slinking off to other parts of the building or to different places completely.

“Alfred...” England breathed as America swung him back around. It was indecent and it was exactly what it needed it to be right now. 

“Hmmm?” he hummed, his lips against England’s forehead. 

“Go get me a drink, please,” he purred. 

“Another gin?” America asked, not yet pulling away.

“An old fashioned. Or any of those cocktails that have ridiculous names.” He grinned. 

“Will do, sweetheart. Find a spot for us to sit.” America pressed a kiss to his forehead, and turned towards the bar. 

England watched him walk back towards the bar before he turned around to face that man again. He had moved since they had come back and was now sitting at a table. Making his way through the writhing bodies and to the tabled area he approached the man who grinned at him with an easy smile.

“I wondered how long it was going to take you before you ditched your date and came to talk to me.” 

“I came to ask you to stop staring. It’s rude.” England frowned, crossing his arms.

“Well, I didn’t want to get in the way and cause a scene. I hoped if I was patient you would come to me of your own volition and look I was right.” He gestured to the seat next to him. “Let me buy you a drink and then show you how it’s supposed to be on the dance floor. I love a man with a good accent.”

“Aren’t you cocky?” England snorted, hands on his hips as the other stood up to lean into his space and tucked a hair that the pomade had let loose. He could knock this man flat on his back if he wanted but instead he gave a coy smile as he suddenly felt an enraged gaze upon the two of them. “Oh, honey,” he crooned. “You are in for one hell of a wakeup call.”

“What’s going on over here?” America asked, handing England his drink and firmly putting himself in between them.

“This gentleman was just wondering if he could take me dancing and then take me home.Apparently he has a thing for the English.” He smiled in amusement, taking a sip as the other man eyed America.

“Did you tell him that that’s too bad because you’re mine?” America glared at the newcomer.

“I didn’t have a chance to say anything.” He shrugged as the man crossed his arms.

“You aren’t nothing special enough to fight over,” the stranger drawled at England who arched a brow. Apparently, up close he’d found America too much of a challenge.

“Coward.” He sniffed.

“And blind.”

“So you say he's a good enough screw to fight over?” He arched a brow and England choked on his drink.

“You’ll never know,” America said, voice dangerous. “You should walk away.”

The man smirked and crossed his arms squaring up. “So he is, huh?”

“Alfred.” England said in warning, putting his glass down.

“Back off,” America said. When the man made no move, America grabbed him by the front of the shirt. “Go.”

“Alfred.” England stepped between them as the stranger tensed.

“Prick,” the guy muttered and slapped America’s hand away before stalking away into the crowd. 

“The nerve of that guy,” America grumbled, letting England turn him around. 

“Good boy, I thought you were going to fight him,” England heaved a sigh and picked up his drink. “That man was probably three sheets to the wind.”

“That fight wouldn’t be fair.” America looked back out into the crowd. “It’s getting late, wanna blow this joint?” He stepped closer to England, leaning his arm on the wall above England’s head. “I could take you home.”

England took a sip and shook his head. “Nah, not yet.”

“You...” America smiled at him. “You hoping I’m gonna have to defend your honor before the night is through?” He pressed a kiss to England’s cheek.

“That would be quite entertaining... and... invigorating,” England hummed.

“Then you better shake this.” America slid his hand over the back of England’s trousers. “And attract some poor sap that thinks he stands a chance.”

England stiffened before leaning into America’s space. “I could start disrobing that would start attracting people.” He put his glass down and tugged at his suspenders.

Grabbing his hands, America stopped him. “Oh no, that belongs to me tonight.”

“Oh you think so, huh?” England grinned up at him.

“I know so. Your luggage is in my apartment remember?”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed leaning back against the wall. “You are not very convincing.”

America leaned into his space. “You are coming home with me, because I am going to take off your clothes and I have plans for that very nice rug of mine. Plans that you are going to want to be a part of.”

“I am not quite convinced yet, Master Jones,” England drawled.

“I am going to...” America leaned down to England’s ear, teeth grazing the shell before continuing to speak. “Make you feel things you haven’t felt before.”

England inhaled deeply, the glass lowering from his mouth. “I-I am afraid you'll have to elaborate before I believe you.”

“You know how I am with words. I’d rather show not tell,” he whispered into England’s ear.

“Hmm, well, Master Jones I am afraid you fall short of the bar then.” England leaned back against the wall, that familiar glint in his eyes. He was always in charge. In war, politics and sex. It had always been that way. Even if his empire was not as large as it used to be he was still the United Kingdom and nobody was dumb strong enough to dominate that.

“Nah, I don’t think so.” America pressed against him. “Not when I’m holding you down with one hand and making you beg for more with the other.”

England exhaled slowly, the image thrilling. He snorted. “You talk a big game, Alfred.”

“And I’m done talking.” His smile shifted slightly, from his usual cheerful one to another that promised he would make good on what he was suggesting. There was power behind that smile, and a confidence that had lurked behind his face for so many years. _I’m a world power now._

England stared at him for a moment. _That boy’s finally growing._ England shook his head,hands on his hips as his posture corrected. He wouldn't be cowed. He was the British empire. He had taken over more land than Rome himself had. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believing is seeing.” America put his hands on England’s hips, squeezing slightly, before sliding up his back. “The band is going to be packing up any minute. We’re heading back to my place.”

“Well, let's go then,” he breathed. America gripped England’s hand, not letting go until they pulled on their coats. America felt like a storm at sea, pulling at England’s anticipation long before they ever reached his building. The night lift attendant yawned when he saw them, choosing not to notice how close they stood in the elevator as it raised them up to America’s floor. England was expecting to be thrown against the frame, and when it didn’t come he was left with the odd feeling of being on the edge of a cliff. America walked into the apartment, forgoing the harsh electric lights for the flare of a match that set several oil lamps alight. The glow in the room was warm, tugging at old memories. America shrugged out of his coat, smiling at England.

“Come here.”

“Oil lamps, huh?” England arched a brow and toes off his shoes before sauntering over slowly. It was thrilling to watch America watch him. Hungry. That was the only way to describe America’s expression as he settled down on the couch and watched him. “What do you need?” he stopped in front of the younger male, hands on his hips.

“Electric lights won’t do,” America said, leaning back. A smile slid across his face. “I need... I think I need your shirt first.”

England arched a brow and gestured to himself. “You said at the club that it was your job not mine.”

“No, I said it belonged to me tonight. Take off your shirt.”

“All right.” England shrugged and slipped outside of his suspenders and unbuttoned his shirt, throwing it to the side.

America reached for him, hooking his fingers in the waistband of England’s trousers and tugging him closer. His slid his hands up England’s sides.

“What are you thinking?”

Looking up at him, America said, “That you should take the rest off.”

“But my arms are tired,” England sniffed.

“That so?” America unhooked the buttons one by one, fingers deliberately brushing against the skin of England’s belly, teasing as he revealed even more. As he pushed the trousers off England’s hips, he leaned back on the couch again. His eyes ran up England’s body, taking in every inch of bare flesh.

Standing there in his socks England crossed his arms with a huff. It was chilly in the room and he was getting tired of standing here. The liquor was wearing off and he was getting irritated. America considered him for a moment and stood. He approached England, a mischievous look on his face. When he reached England, he grabbed hold of him quickly. Before England could say anything, America lifted him up, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

_Finally._ England gasped, wrapping his legs around his waist, fingers digging into Americas shoulders, kissing him back hard.

“Help me get this off,” America gasped, holding England in one arm so he could start tugging at his own clothes. He wasn’t entirely helpful as he pressed his face into England’s throat, pressing hard kisses into his skin.

“You have to put me down,” England groaned and snaps his suspender.

America made an impatient sound, but turned, lowering them to the floor. He leaned up, struggling out of his suspenders.

Reaching up England yanked them down with a grunt, ripping Americas shirt from his trousers. “Alfred.” The name came out as a gasp, fingers fumbling at the buttons on the younger man's trousers, the button threatening to pop off.

Catching England’s hands, America pushed them up over his head, pinning him to the floor. Holding his wrists in one hand, he said. “I’m in charge tonight. Keep your hands there.” He kissed England hard, slowly releasing his arms, sliding his hands over England’s limbs and pushing himself up on his chest. He hooked his fingers into his trousers, sliding them over his hips and kicking them off his legs.

England's fingers flexed and he reached to pull America into a kiss.

Meeting him in the kiss, America grabbed England’s wrists again, pushing his hands back to the plush rug. “I’m in charge,” he said, voice warm. He kissed him once more, then pulled away, still holding England down. Looking down at him appraisingly, he moved his hips, their bodies brushing against each other.

England swore, legs hooking around the others hips as his fingers found purchase in the rug. “Too slow,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

America ran his hand, down the length of England’s thigh, thumb pressing into the soft skin at the back England’s knee. He moved again, their bodies brushing against each other again. His face lost a little of its determined focus.

England reached up and yanked him down, smashing their mouths together. Crescent moons formed in America's skin as he gripped at his back, gyrating against the other. America had left an easy opening, so now he was taking control. “Are you gonna ride me, cowboy?” he crooned.

Pulling back from the kiss, America grinned down at him. “Maybe. How bad do you want me?” He smoothed his fingers back over England’s flank, surprising him when he took a tighter grip on his hip, changing the rhythm England had set to something slower and more drawn out.

England had been annoyed before, now he was irritated. “Alfred,” he warned and with a large grunt tried to reverse their position. His eyes widened as the other slammed him back down the carpet. He stared up at the younger male.

“You don’t always have to be in control. And I said I’m in charge. Can you handle that, Arthur?” He pressed a soft kiss to his lips, pressing harder when England didn’t answer immediately.

“I can let you play at being in control if you would actually do it!” England barked.

“I’m not playing,” America muttered. He pressed his face against England’s throat for a moment, breathing him in, the silence unnerving England a little. He took England by the arms and rolled, England now straddling his hips. “I want you to ride me. So saddle up.” He stretched his arms over his head, fingers reaching for a bottle and holding it up for England to take.

***

He could see that he had surprised England, the truth of it clear in his face. _I told you I wouldn’t ask anymore about being beneath me._ Too many times, England would freeze. He didn’t want that tonight, the dark shadow that would cross his face whenever it happened. Whatever memory that haunted England was not coming between them tonight. As much as he wanted him, he’d promised him that he could wait until England asked. He couldn’t always keep his word when it came to politics, but he could where it came between them. He’d asked England to trust him more times than he could count, so he had to trust that he would come around. When England didn’t move, America slid his hands up his thighs, squeezing his backside.

***

“Adorable,” England teased arching America's back further. With his free hand England dragged his nails down the center of Americas body, following the man's sternum,belly button and down until he gripped him tightly, teeth latching beneath America’s ear. Timing. It was all about timing. The man arched violently beneath him. “Just because you take control doesn't mean I have to be on my back,” he murmured.

Sliding his hand between England’s legs, he touched him softly, teasingly. “That so?” America pressed a kiss to the side of his head, teeth grazing along England’s ear a moment later. His hand reached for the bottle that England was still holding. “Open it.” America looked at him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his mouth. “I want you.” He squeezed him around the middle. He leaned towards him and pressed a kiss behind his ear. “And... one of us is getting ridden tonight. Or both.”

England turned bright and he scowled at the other. “You really need to stop talking that's all you do”.

America used his hold around England’s body to push him to the floor, stretching to get the jar with one hand, while the other pinned England to the floor, as America adjusted their positions. “I’m first.” They moved, slick fingers and biting kisses, until America was sinking onto England’s lap.

“Still think that you need to invest in a furniture company, I did.” England gasped.

“Why’s that?” America grunted, starting slow. He watched England’s face, every little twitch of emotion.

“‘Cause when you are finally ready to have some good sex, some let go, truly good, sex...” England breathed.

“I’ll just be...” He moved with more force, drawing groans from both of them. “Be sure to break... some of... yours.”

“Honestly!” England grunted and grabbed Americas wrist and rolled them over.

Hooking his legs more tightly around England’s hips, America pushed back against him. “You... better be... ready for that day...” America’s hands fastened on England’s hips. “Harder.”

Words disappeared from the room, turning into gasps and noise of pleasure. England’s grin turned into one of amusement as he leaned over to say what was on his mind while he was still coherent. Panting he chuckled into his partner's ear, “It was cute how you tried to take control.”

“One day you are going to ask...” America’s words trailed off, his hold tightening on England’s back. “And I’m not, ah, cute. More.” America groaned, fingers finding what purchase they could on England’s body. He wrapped the fingers of one hand on the back of his head. He pulled at the yellow strands until he could draw England into a kiss. He fought England for control, their movements becoming more erratic. “Not yet.”

“Why!?” England's teeth latched onto Americas collar bone, no sign of stopping.

America grunted, one of his legs slipping. He leaned up on one elbow, gasping as England’s teeth came down harder. “On your back.”

England snorted. “Over my dead body.”

“I hope not.” He adjusted his hold on England’s back, muscles tensing as he rolled them suddenly. England’s shoulders touched the floor, and a moment, America’s weight resettled on him, beginning to ride him before England could even think to protest. After, he couldn’t really think at all...

***

“Like I said, cute.” England yawned as he stretched out across the rug. He couldn't stay down here much longer it was getting cold.

America stretched beside him, throwing him a look. “Fuck off.” He rolled over and lay his head on England’s stomach.

“Adorable,” England crooned patting America’s hair.

Rolling his eyes, but smiling, America leaned up and climbed to his feet. He reached down. “Let’s go to bed, you condescending ass.”

He just looked up at America with a tired smile. The liquor making him sluggish. Shaking his head, America knelt down, scooping England up in his arms and walking toward the bedroom.

“It’s cute that you think that was all your plan.” Tipping him onto the comforter, America walked to the bathroom to get a washcloth.

“If you say so, Alfred,” England drawled, eyes fluttering shut.

“If you say so, Arthur.” America crawled in bed beside him, wrapping his arms around his middle and nuzzling the side of his head.

“Alfred...” England sighed and curled onto his side.

“The way you looked tonight... I’m remembering that.”

“It was a rather dashing tie wasn't it?” He felt around for the edge of the blankets.

Helping, America pulled at the sheets, bundling them up in the fine fabrics. “And the way you danced. I like it when you let loose.”

“You like me when I'm drunk? I'll remember that next time you bitch about it.”

“Not drunk. Just... yourself.”

“You remember that tomorrow morning when I'm pissed you can't make me a decent cup of tea.”

Chuckling, America tilted England’s chin up for a kiss. England melted against him, his aggression worn off in the aftermath of sex. America loved this part, the quiet affection that felt so very secret and theirs alone. _One day, you’ll let me be in control,_ America thought. For now, he could accept that England trusted him to hold him while he was asleep, tucked against his side. He could keep him like this until day broke and maybe convince him to stay in bed even longer.

_“You wouldn’t be able to tell just by looking at you,” France muttered from the other side of the tent. The storm had gotten worse and neither of them were getting any sleep._

_“Wouldn’t be able to tell what?”_

_“That you can be patient at all.”_

_America laughed. “Nobody calls me patient.”_

_“Oh, you’re not with practically everything. I’ve watched you with Arthur for a long time. I don’t know how you do it.”_

_“Do what?”_

_“You had him all riled up and you were nowhere near him. He wouldn’t admit that you were the cause of his immense frustration, of course, but I knew better.”_

_“That’s my little secret.”_

_“That’s something only you could do.” America wrapped up in his blankets, trying to banish the cold seeping in through the gaps in the tent._

_He smiled._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a lot of fun to go over this chapter before I posted it! This one was a lot of fun to write. There isn't a whole lot of available data on gay speakeasys, but they did exist and, in fact, gay culture was growing fairly quickly in New York during the 1920s. Due to the looser social norms and attitudes of the bars and nightclubs (since they were all illegal at the time anyway) people were able to express themselves in different ways.
> 
> Please leave us a comment or a kudo to let us know you are enjoying our story! Thank you for all your comments on the last few chapters! They really make us smile!


	13. Bootlegging and Italians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England is surprised when he shows up at America's place only to find Italy Romano living there. Turns out there's been a lot going on in 1920s Chicago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Gang violence involving guns.

_August 1926_

_Chicago, Illinois_

The weather was muggy to be kind, but England was not interested in being magnanimous to American weather. It was hot. And wet in a way that made his woolen trousers cling to his legs. Not that it wouldn’t have been hot in Washington D.C. where they were supposed to meet to discuss trade agreements, but at least the travel would be over. Instead, he arrived to discover that America had gone out to Chicago several weeks ago and had yet to return.

They arrived at America’s address and England peered out of the cab window, eyeing the townhome with curiosity. The last time he’d been in Chicago, this was not America’s house. He’d lived in a far more modest establishment. Perhaps the economic boom after the war really had gone to his head. England paid the driver and stepped out into the humid air and nodded at the well to do people that walked up and down the street.

He rang the bell, working out exactly what scolding America deserved for the requirement of getting on two trains to arrive here. He turned as the door opened and was as stunned as the face on the other side of the door. Romano Italy stared at him in shock.

“ _Merda!_ ” England barely had time to take in the dark suit that had an entirely too American cut to the jacket before the door slammed shut.

“Excuse me...” England stared at the door in surprise before anger took over and he kicked the bottom panel. “You open this door right now!” “Do you think I’m stupid!?” Romano shouted from the other side. “There’s no way in hell I’m opening this door!”

“I will burn the damn door down and then drop your sorry ass off at that Spaniard’s home! Why the bloody hell are you in Alfred’s house!?” There was silence, England could almost picture the Italian backing away from the door and looking for an escape route. “I fucking live here, asshole!” he shouted. It would have sounded harsher if he hadn’t stuttered it out.

“What did you just call me?!” England said quietly, his free hand heating up. “I will give you five seconds to open up this door. One... two...” A frightened squeak and the door opened.. England could hear footsteps. Romano was going for the backdoor. “Get back here and speak to me properly, Lovino!” England barked as he stepped inside. “Where the bloody hell is Alfred!?” Romano was struggling with the key in the backdoor when England stepped through the hallway. He stared hard at the wood, before turning around to England and lifting his chin. “I don’t know where he is.” “Why are you here? In Alfred's house?” England demanded.

“I told you. I live here right now.” Romano glared at him. “He’s good for business.”

“Good for business?” England said tightly. “Good for business?”

Fingers scrabbling for the key behind his back. “That’s right. It’s not like you don’t know.”

“Enlighten me... don't make me force you Lovino... I know you've seen what I can do to Antonio.”

“I’m not...” England raised an eyebrow and Romano cut off. The key tumbled to the floor and Romano cursed. “None of your business,” he mumbled.

“Really? You’re fucking Alfred and it's none of my business?”

Romano’s face turned white, then an angry red. “I’m not!”

England snorted. “Does Antonio know?”

“There’s nothing to tell that bastard!” He crossed his arms.

“ I suppose you won't mind if I give him a ring then?” England drawled.

“That’s my busi...” The phone began ringing in the house, the bell loudly sounding from the front hallway. Romano scooted around, dodging England as though he were a venomous snake. He snatched the receiver. “ _Pronto._ ” He eyed England as the other speaker began to talk.

England crossed his arms after putting down his luggage, closing the space between them now that Romano was tied to the wall. Romano pressed the receiver harder to his ear, trying not let any of the sound slip through. He offered short answers, nothing more than a _sí_ or _no_.

England heaved a sigh. This was America's house. He had called ahead for the address. From the White House no less! Romano being here was suspicious and England had expected a much different welcome. Moving into the living room he settled onto the burgundy sofa with a grunt. He would wait this out.

It was several minutes before Romano got off the phone and it seemed that he was going to be far from willing to come into the rest of the house. It was nearly a quarter of an hour when a car puttered to a stop on the street and footsteps came up the walk. “Hey, why is the front door open?” America called into the house.

England didn't bother getting off the couch or looking up from the newspaper as he loudly called “Alfred F. Jones!”

“Arthur?” America closed the door behind him and came into view from the hall. He still had his hat on, tilted to one side of his head. His suit was dark, cut loose. He leaned on the frame and pushed his hands in his pockets. “I thought you weren’t coming until next week.” “Check your calendar.” England scowled and glared up at him. “Why? Planning to hide your little secret away?” His fingers tightened around the newspaper. “If I had known we were picking up side pieces again then I would stop in Portugal on the way over.” “Shit... my project was taking longer than I thought it would. I must have lost track of the time.” He gave England a smile as though it would wipe away his mistake with the date. “And what side piece? A Colt or a Smith and Wesson?” He walked into the living room and dropped down onto the couch beside England.

“Really, Lovino?” England scowled leaning away. “Don't come crying to me when Antonio runs in with that axe because you are bedding Lovino.” America stared at him. “What are you talking about? He said he was having a hard time at home and needed a place to stay. There’s a lot of Italians out here these days.” England didn’t lower the newspaper, so America pushed it down so England could see his face.

“That's not what it looks like.”

“I’m not sleeping with him. We’re just doing business together.”

England scoffed and pulled the paper back up. “If you say so.”

America frowned. “What can I do to prove it?”

A knock sounded on the frame of the door. Romano had appeared. “Jones I have to go. Do you have the case?”

“That depends. Where are you going with it?”

“That depends on which side you’re on tonight.”

America glanced at England and got up from the couch to pick up a violin case from the corner. It was a little wider than usual and clearly much heavier than it would be if it held an instrument. “At the warehouses then?” “Sure.” Romano shrugged and took the case. He threw a glare at England and then left, the front door closing behind him. America came back, standing in front of England and looking down over the top of his newspaper.

“What’s in the case?”

“A big gun.” England stared at him.

“Are you hungry?” America asked, clearly wanting to get out of the rut he’d walked into.

“Not really.” England turned the page. “I had hopes for a smoke but that doesn't seem to be the case anymore.” He scowled. America had said he wasn't sleeping with Romano. And he believed him. But he had been angry, maybe even jealous when he saw the other man in America's home. And he wasn't sure if he was ready to give those feelings up.

Kneeling down on the carpet, America rested his forearms on England’s legs. “You’re a pleasant surprise this afternoon,” he said.

“I'm a delight,” England corrected and snapped the paper shut to glare at him.

“You should have phoned, I would have picked you up from the train station.” He scooted forward, fingers closing on the newspaper and beginning to slide it out of England’s hands. “It would have saved me from the industrial types from Illinois arguing over shipyards with industrial types from Wisconsin.” “It’s... fine.” England looked down at him with a sigh.

“It’s not.” America leaned forward, pressing into England’s space. He was close enough for a kiss, but waited.

“You promise he isn't warming your bed?” England murmured.

“Lovino is not warming my bed,” America said.

“Good. I'd be furious” England bent over, pressing his mouth to the others. America leaned up, pressing England into the back of the couch as he deepened the kiss. England’s hands slid over his shoulders and down his sides. England paused, hands on the holsters beneath America’s jacket.

“Careful,” America murmured against his mouth. He leaned back so he could shrug out of his jacket, the pistols fully visible now as he moved to take off the weapons.

“why are you carrying so much?” England frowned leaning back.

“Just a precaution. Chicago has gotten a little rough since the last time you’ve been here.” He settled the pistols carefully onto the other end of the sofa.

“Really?” England ran his hands along Americas jawline before weaving through his hair. “How so?”

“Black market. Italian mafia. I’m keeping an eye on it.” He settled onto the couch, pressing another kiss to England’s mouth.

“Is that why Lovino is here?” England asked, not waiting for an answer in exchange for kissing the other deeply.

America kissed him back, hands going to the tie around England’s neck, tugging the knot loose and undoing the first few buttons. His mouth pressed beneath England’s jaw. “We can talk about it later.” His teeth grazed England’s pulse.

“Let's get lunch,” England said suddenly, hands on America's shoulders as if it just occurred to him.

Breath warm on England’s skin, America pressed one more kiss before leaning back. “Really? I thought you wanted a cigarette?” He smiled at him, fingers toying with the buttons on England’s shirt front.

“Well, yes,” England warred with himself.

“So... cigarette or... a sandwich?” His fingers slid lower, toying with England’s belt.

“Both.” England pulled him in for a kiss. America kissed him back, fingers working England’s belt and the buttons on his trousers.

“I'm gonna use you,” England murmured allowing America to slid his pants down, as he worked on unbuttoning America’s, not bothering to pull down the youngers. Nudging the other back until he was leaning against the back of the couch England grinned. America hooked a hand at the back of England’s neck, drawing him back in for a kiss. His other hand sliding down England’s bare thigh.

“Hands off.” England breathed as he scooted into America’s lap, threading his hands into America's hair as leverage. Taking a slow breath, England settled against the other, watching America's pupils dilate and back arch.

“Tall... order...” America gasped, his fingers bunching in England’s shirt collar.

“Hands off,” England said, pulling America’s hands from his collar and bending the boys arms back so his hands could grab the back of the couch behind his head “stay” Squeezing the back, America lifted his hips up off the couch. A grin slid onto his face as England’s fingers tightened in his hair at the movement.

“Don’t hold back, sweetheart.”

“Oh trust me.” England’s grin darkened. “I won’t.”

***

America could hear England’s stomach growling from where he lay on top of him. They had tipped over the couch and his neck was at an uncomfortable angle. Adjusting England’s loose limbed form, America untangled himself from the furniture. He stretched. That position was going to leave his neck sore tomorrow. He slid his hand up the back of England’s sweaty shirt. “I’m guessing you are going to want that sandwich now.” “Ravenous,” England exhaled, tapping his cigarette and stretching. He had dragged that out far longer than necessary, pulling America back from the edge several times until it looked like America was about to cry.

“Fuck... my legs are still shaking.” Straightening his limbs, his body bumped against England’s as he tried to get up.

“Can someone deliver something? Call your office.”

“I’d still have to walk to the telephone.” America rolled over and gathered England into his arms, pressing his face against his chest. The object in question began ringing from its place in the hall. “Damn it...” “Oh no.” England chuckled. “Well, I guess while you're up.”

America groaned as he got to his feet, pulling his trousers up over his hips. “Don’t look so comfortable,” he teased, stepping over England so he could get to the telephone. He disappeared into the hall, the ringing cutting off as he picked up the receiver. He listened for over a minute. “Okay, I’ll be there. Sundown, right.” As the call ended he came back into the doorframe. “What sort of sandwich do you want? I’ve got peanut butter, maybe a couple other things in the ice box.” “We aren't going out?” England looked up. “How about ordering? We can order things and then stay in all night.”

“I can pick you up something while I run my errand. It shouldn’t take long.” He smiled at him. “You should stay there like that. That image alone is gonna make me hurry back. I should get the Kodak.” “What happens when Lovino comes back?”

“I’ll tell him he has to find somewhere else to stay tonight.”

“Or we could move to one of your other houses.” England rolled onto his stomach to smoke. “It would be rude to kick him out.”

“If I can wrap up my business here we could be on a train anywhere tomorrow. Or get the car and go to one of my lake houses.” He watched England for a moment longer, then looked down at his wristwatch. “Let’s get cleaned up and we can go out. Then it’s a quick stop for my business and we can go to the apartment downtown.” “Right away?” England's frown morphed into a pout for a moment before he sighed. “All right.”

“If you want to eat. Then I’ll drop you off at the apartment.” America smoothed a hand through his hair and straightened his glasses.

“I see I'm an inconvenience right now,” England stated as he got up and slipped into his trousers.

America looked at him, walking over to where he had put his pistols. He put the straps over one shoulder so he could take them up the stairs. “No, it’s just... I don’t want to put you in the line of fire. It’s safer at the apartment.” “Get me a gun.” England tucked in his shirt and moved into his space, grabbing America by the wrist and pulling his arms around him.

America held him, not answering for a moment. “I’ll get you a gun if you promise to stay with the car. If Lovino knows you’re there he’ll get all edgy and I need him to pay attention to our people.” England frowned. “You know... what... have you gotten yourself into?”

“Nothing major. Just some bootlegging.” He kissed England on the forehead, pulling away to head up the stairs towards the bathroom. He paused down the hall to tweak the settings on the boiler.

England heaved a sigh and looked at his luggage, shaking his head and buttoned up his shirt, before rubbing at his neck. Maybe he should go do his own thing while America was busy. He could hear the spigot of the shower come on upstairs, steam rolling out into the hallway.

England frowned, he wasn't aware America was planning to bathe. Unbuttoning his own shirt England made his way up the stairs, dropping the shirt on the stairs and shucking off his trousers as he got to the door.

“I’ve got a little bit of time.” England could almost hear the grin in his voice over the water. “Then lunch.”

“Thank goodness I am starving.” England grinned and stepped into the shower.

***

America watched the street outside the window of the small diner as England worked through his plate. The scent of Italian spices lingered in the air and it made America hungrier. However, he’d finished his meal quickly. Despite the fact that he’d told England not to worry, what Romano had relayed on the phone could cause problems. The new guy on the Southside, Capone, was someone to watch.

He heard England clear his throat and turned to look at him with a smile.

“Ignoring someone at supper is one thing. Ignoring someone who just sailed across the world is another.” England cut into his food a bit hard, his fork hitting the plate.

“You’ve got my attention.” England raised an eyebrow at him. “How’s it going over the pond?”

England heaved a sigh. “Good. So good I can't wait to go back to it in two days”

“Two days? It’s gonna take longer than that. We have business to talk about and then... well, other business to talk about.” He reached over with his fork to spear a piece of meat off England’s plate. “I’m gonna convince you to stay longer.” “I've already been in North America for two weeks, Alfred.”

“Time with Matt does not count. He’s being all twitchy since he’s hoping you’ll give him actual independence at that Conference you’re calling in a few months. Is that what you’re going to do? Make the Dominions all equal in the Empire?” “I can't tell you anything.” England shook his head. “And it does count. I've still been away for half a month.”

“I’m the best country in the world and you can’t give me a few extra days? You gave Matt twelve days, the least you can do is give me six.” England hesitated. “You know that's not always my decision.” He shook his head. “I have to head to Portugal and Poland after this.”

“Then you have to give me at least three days. Then you’ll have to think about me the entire time you’re in meetings. They can wait one extra day.” Tires screeched in the road and it drew America’s attention for a moment.

England snorted. “If this dinner is anything to go by of course I'll be thinking about you the entire time. In anger.” He leaned back grabbing his glass. “I haven't even been able to keep your attention for half of a soda water.” “It’s...” America’s eyes widened at something he could see outside the window. “Get down!” He moved, pulling England out of his chair and behind him. The crack of gunfire could be heard a moment later, along with more tires screeching in the street. Rapid shots came a moment later, drowning out the shrieks of people trying to get out of the way as a few bullets cracked the glass of the cafe. Not long after it was over and police sirens could be heard. America was cursing. “Are you okay?” he asked England.

People around them were shouting and the screams of women dropped into sobs as England groaned, grabbing at the back of his head, peeking up at America. “What the bloody hell?” “That’s what I want to know... they usually just fight at night... not in the middle of the fucking day!” America stood up, surveying the damage. Everyone in the cafe seemed to be fine, only the front window a little worse for wear. The police were already arriving on the scene, on the street a few people had been caught in the crossfire. Running a hand through his hair, America reached down to offer England a hand up. As England stood, America checked him over, brushing glass off his jacket. “I’m going to go help.” England nodded, following after him and trying to help get the injured loaded up into ambulances that whirred away towards hospitals. It didn’t look like anyone had been killed. England heaved a sigh of relief as the last person was taken away. He watched the people of the street, the resignation on their faces as store owners began sweeping up glass.

“Come with me,” America said, coming back to England’s side.

“Excuse-” The argument on England's lips died at Americas expression and he nodded.

America herded him towards the car, keeping an eye on everyone around them. Even with the police, it didn’t guarantee whatever had sparked the brief gun battle was over. The cops, after all, could have been bribed. The Italians on the south side and the Irish gangs on the north had people in all sorts of places. America opened the car door and made sure England got in before going around to other side and pulling the door shut. Soon they were rumbling off the street. “Do you want me to drop you off at the apartment? You don’t have to deal with this.” “You want me to sit around in your apartment while this shit is going on?” England stared at him.

“I’m just saying there might be more bullets flying before the day is over.” America frowned over the steering wheel. “Get the case out of the back, will you?” He turned the car onto a side street and kept onto his destination.

England snorted as he reached in the back. “Once again you forget my privateer days.”

“I don’t think you had Tommy guns back then,” America said as England flipped the nondescript case open. “Put it together so it’s ready if we need it. We’re making a stop at a bookie. You’ve still got that pistol I gave you right?” “Of course.” England began to click the pieces together. “I can’t believe this.” England shook his head.

“Can’t believe what?” America asked, turning the vehicle deeper into the labyrinth of the city.

“You should have warned me you were dealing with gang wars,” he scowled.

“And if I had told you?” The engine sputtered to a stop as he turned into an alley. “And it’s not like you don’t have your own. Birmingham isn’t exactly squeaky clean.” “I would have packed my case differently,” England muttered.

“How so?” America asked, hopping out of the car and going around to the back. He flipped a hat up towards England. “Put that on.”

“I would have packed a different blindfold and cuffs,” he said in a conversational tone and jammed the hat on his head.

America coughed, his face turning red. He wanted to ask England exactly what he would have planned to do with those, but he had to stay focused. “Careful, Arthur. You might end up in my crosshairs.” He patted him on the ass as he walked past him, waving for him to follow.

“Handy git,” England muttered. “Which side are you even on?”

“Depends on the day,” America said. He knocked on a door in the alley, a particular pattern that was answered on the other side. Another exchange and the door opened.

“Who’s the other guy?” asked the man, his accent shifting between American and Irish.

“Got connections in London. Wanted to see if Weiss would be interested.”

“Who said he was here?” The man still moved aside, eyeing England.

“Just had a feeling. C’mon Kirkland, I’ve got a bet to collect on.”

England heaved sigh, eyeing the man as they passed by. This was black market stuff and if they were to get caught, he were to get caught, he would be fucked.

“There’s gonna be a lot of money in the room at the end of this hallway. Just act casual and don’t say anything.” America adjusted his coat, hand slipping inside to check the guns in the holsters. He paused at the closed door, throwing England a smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.” “You know what's going to happen if shit goes wrong and then parliament finds out I've gotten mixed up in your black market!?” he hissed “A war, Alfred. That's what will happen!” “I can’t send you back now. Not unless you want to be patching up bullet holes in me,” America whispered back. “This is gonna be quick. I just need to find out some things, then I can take you to the apartment before I deal with the Italians.” “You think I'm gonna let you deal with this shit alone?! Absolutely not, you git! You are choosing this over dirty, hot sex and I am going to make sure that you live so I can rip you a new one!” he hissed. He was angry and his filter was gone.

America blinked at him from beneath his pulled down hat. His fingers tugged at England’s sleeve for just a moment. “Then let’s get this done so I can have my way with you.” He turned away from him and opened the door, a plume of cigarette smoke escaping into the hall. The room was noisy, a few men looking up from books behind stacks of bills. “Hey, Shanahan, is Weiss in his office?” America asked, stopping in front of one of the tables. The man behind it was young, freckles across his nose. England wouldn’t have been able to pick him out as a member of the mob. Too common. “Also, I won that last bet,” America continued. He picked up a stack of cash and the man behind them reached up and grabbed of back. He counted out a handful and offered it back to America.

“Yeah, he just got in,” Shanahan said, gesturing towards an open door at the other end of the long room. America tipped his hat and began walking toward it.

England shook his head, opting to remain silent as he followed after America. Until he heard something that tied this group specifically to underground dealings in the United Kingdom then this had nothing to so with him.

“Hey, so don’t make him think you’re staring at him. He won’t take it well,” America whispered. Before England could ask for clarification they were inside. “Howdy, Weiss!” America said, walking into the room and leaning on the back of a chair set across from a large desk.

“What do you want, Jones?” asked the slight man. He was dark haired and an expression that said he wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone. He couldn’t even be thirty, England thought. His accent was reminiscent of Poland.

“Well, my associate and I were out on the town and out of nowhere, we’re getting fired at. Didn’t catch a look of the guys so wanted to see if you knew anything.” “You should be looking at Capone and his men.”

“They’re are only so many gangs. And I know Saltis is stockpiling.”

The glare thrown across the room was withering. “And your little brewery operation uptown could go up in smoke if you say any more about it. Who’s that?” “I borrowed him from a London gang. Thought he could be useful for gun running.” Weiss eyed England for a moment.

The pause was long. “I don’t have time for this, Jones. When you have merchandise, then we’ll talk.” He waved him off and America tugged at England’s arm. They walked back out into the room and America took a quick turn deeper into the building. England snorted shoving his hands deep into his pockets “Gun running is that right, govenah,” England drawled.

“Isn’t that what your guys’ do?” America said, walking through a side door and out into the street. They circled around, making their way back to the car.

“So what exactly have you gotten yourself into?” England sighed. “And I didnt even see Lovino.”

“That’s because that was the North Side Gang. Lots of Irish-American. The only reason Weiss is in charge is because he grew up and was friends with the last guy, O’Banion. He’s planning a war against the Italians with the Austro-Hungarian guy, Saltis.” America pulled open the car door for England, who picked up the case with the Tommy gun and settled it on his lap as he sat. “To find Lovino we’ve got to talk the Chicago Outfit.” “Let me guess, that's where we are going next?” England asked dryly.

America turned to give him a smile. “You sure you ain’t a cop, sweetheart?” he teased.

“I was once.” England shrugged and his head dropped back against the seat with a sigh.

“Well, let's get it over with.”

“C’mon this is worthy of the motion pictures.” The engine roared to life and they started back into the streets.

“If this was the lead up perhaps, so far it seems very tame” England shrugged,watching the people out on the sidewalks as they drove past.

“Well, if anyone is gonna shoot at us it’ll be these guys.” America accelerated into traffic heading into another part of the city. “Weiss and his crew would just come after us in our sleep.” “Good to know,” England said dryly.

***

They circled through the town, driving down towards several warehouses near the docks. The men didn’t even bother to disguise their firepower as they got closer to the water. Light glistened off Lake Michigan as America pulled the car in for a stop. “Give me a sec before you get out.” “Jones, whose this other guy?”

America opened the door, his hands clearly visible. “Is Capone around?” he asked, his voice shifting subtly, sounding more like the people around him. He ignored the question.

“Honestly ‘ow long is tis goin’ ta take?” England huffed in annoyance as his own dialect shifted slightly. America was right he had his own share of gangs and they tended to hang where the cockney accent was at its thickest. High class British would make these type nervous.

The Italian-American let the curiosity spread through his suspicion. “I don’t know if Big Al is gonna want to talk to him.”

“He doesn’t have to, I’m the one who wants to talk to him.” He gestured for England to get out of the car. “C’mon, let’s tell the boss your offer.” Heaving another sigh England climbed out of the car. “I come all the way to America and I have to deal with this shit.”

“You could have stayed where you belong, asshole.” Romano appeared from inside one of the buildings, his dark hat pulled low over his face. He had a Tommy gun casually cradled in his arms as he glared at England.

England faced him with irritation, a sneer curling his upper lip. “You wanna say that again?”

Romano flinched and turned his attention to America as he stepped in between them. “What is he even doing here?”

“Maybe he wanted to come along for the ride?” America said, voice low enough so only the three of them could hear.

Romano didn’t answer right away. “I bet he did,” he muttered.

“And I bet you are at least smart enough to shut your trap. I already made a call to Antonio.”

“Why would he believe you?” Romano snarked back, following them into the building. “You’re a--”

America had stopped, casually reaching around England and grabbing Romano by the collar of his shirt. He yanked him forward. “Lovino, we can be friends, but if you keep insulting Arthur... that’s gonna change real quick.” England knew that the responsible thing to do would be to break this up before it escalated any further. But he was enjoying this. America didn't often get aggressive regarding him. Crossing his arms an amused smile on his face as he stated at Romano over America's shoulder.

“You need me for this,” Romano said, his eyes narrowing. “And that bastardo...”

Pushing him into the wall, America towered over him. “Keep talking.” England really wanted to keep watching. As long as the physical violence didn't escalate this was fine. Enjoyable even. Digging out his cigarette case and book of matches he grinned. “Arthur isn’t the reason the gangs shot up a street today.” America moved quickly, the gun getting pulled out of Romano’s hands even though he did his beat to keep hold of it. “And I didn’t think you were dumb enough to try that.” He held the weapon towards England.

“These are my people.”

“No, they are mine. And we’re done talking about this. Show me where Capone is.”

Pocketing the case and match patch he took the gun, glancing at the one on his hip. He didnt read my need two. “Can we just get this started, gits?” “Who are you to-”

“Can we just go?” England sighed.

“Lead the way, Lovino. I need to talk to Capone.” Romano threw one last glare at America and then started deeper into the building, gesturing for them to follow. America hung back, walking by England’s side. “Why are you making that face?” “What face?” England asked dryly. “This is my normal face”

“Are you mad at me or something? Over Lovino? He’ll get over it.” America shrugged. “Or he’ll try and shoot me.”

“I’m not mad.” England huffed. “I am just irritated.”

“Why?”

“I'm sorry if I wasn't expecting to get dragged around a bunch of wash up gangs in Chicago.”

“We’re almost done.”

“What do you mean wash up?” Romano asked, at almost the same time. England shot America a doubtful look before looking around at Romano with a bored expression.

“Wash up,” he repeated. “Go and try to play with the Birmingham boys. That's a gang.”

Romano crossed his arms. “No way, the mafia has everything on those guys. And these guys are an extension, same blood.”

“Apples to oranges, Artie,” America said. They stopped outside of a door and Romano opened it, telling America Capone was inside. “You two stay out here. I’ll be back.” “Absolutely not,” England shook his head.

“It’ll take two seconds.” America gave him a smile and went in, closing the door behind him before England could follow. Romano leaned against the door, looking England up and down.

“You really think you could stop me if I actually had plans go in there?” England snorted

“No, and if you want to endanger him that’s your choice. Maybe Antonio was wrong.”

England snorted. “Antonio's opinion of me matters little. So, if you were hoping to have some leverage sorry to disappoint you.”

Romano shrugged. “That idiot talks a lot in bed. But I guess he missed the mark when he said you’d gone soft on Alfred.”

“What does that even mean?”

Romano examined England's face. “That you need him.”

England snorted and looked away. “That's ridiculous.”

“Like I said, Antonio is an idiot.” Romano snorted in amusement. “But it sure is interesting.”

“I don't see how that's interesting.”

Romano shrugged. “He’s just so defensive of you.”

“Not particularly.”

Romano raised an eyebrow. “And the way you reacted when you saw me in his house...” Romano laughed. “I’m not the only--” He eyed the guns in England’s hands for a moment, cocking his hat forward, he considered his next move.

“Anyone would be upset of they had asked to come for a conference only find another nation where the other one was supposed to be,” England countered, pleased with himself.

“Upset, sure.” Romano put his hand on the barrel of one of the guns. “Immediately assuming I’d stolen the golden boy...?”

“You can’t steal him,” England said firmly.

“How do you know?”

“Because he is not someone that would allow that.”

“How sure are you?” He tugged at the gun.

England didn't answer for a moment before asking. “Do you have feelings for Alfred?”

Stepping back, Romano blinked at him for a moment. He crossed his arms, looking away. An annoyed expression came across his face. “None of your business, asshole. Why do you care?” England's eyes widened. “You do...” he stared at the other. He had not seen that one coming.

Before Romano could say anything else, the door slammed open, nearly clipping Romano in the shoulder before he darted out of the way. America was frowning, clearly displeased about what he’d heard in the room. “We’re leaving,” he said. He plucked one of the longer guns out of England’s hand and leaned it against his shoulder. “Lovino, you can come or not. Up to you. I’ve got to check in on the brewery.” “I don't think that he should come,” England interjected.

America paused, turning to look at him. His expression was confused as he looked at England’s determined expression. He glanced at Romano whose expression had turned flushed with temper. “What’s going on?” “Nothing.” England shook his head, pushing off the wall he had been leaning against. “I just don't see the point of three of us going. Wouldn't it be more useful for him to go check in elsewhere? Cover more ground,” he supplied.

“I guess it would.” America shrugged. “Lovino, could you go check the ‘cellar’?” It was clearly code for something and Romano frowned at England. He gestured for the gun America was holding and he handed it off. Before America could let go, Romano stepped closer to him and whispered something that England couldn’t hear. After America said something in reply, Romano turned on his heel and stormed off down the hallway. “What did you say to get him so riled up?” America asked, turning back to England.

“Why? What did he say?”

“I only understood about half of it since he grumbled something in Italian. Something about bad taste? No idea what he was talking about.” England snorted. “Just ignore him.” He turned away. “Let's get going.”

***

They pulled up at America’s townhome, surprising England. “Let’s go check out the brewery.”

England turned in his seat to stare at him. “Do not tell me that the illegal brewery is in your basement?”

“Fine, I won’t tell you.” America grinned at him.

“Oh,” he groaned. “You have got to be kidding me.”

America reached over the backseat and grabbed the nondescript case from the back. He took the gun in England’s lap and settled it inside. “Don’t worry, all those guys think it’s in the bottom of a mercantile.” “You are ridiculous.” He shook his head but then something popped into his mind and he grinned. “Well, I guess I will not have to go far if I wanted a drink then?” He leaned over into America space, voice low.

“For beer at least.” America reached over and touched the front of his coat. “Wanna go inside? I’ll show you the secret door.”

“Secret door.” England fought not to roll his eyes. “Of course.”

America hopped out of the car, taking the case with him. England followed him into the house. Stopping at the coat closet, America opened the door, hooking his coat onto a hanger, once again revealing the two pistols and their holsters. He gestured for England to come closer. “Stick your hand back here.” “Absolutely not” England stepped back. “Do you think me daft?”

Reaching forward to catch him, America took hold of his wrist. “Trust me.” He pulled England forward, directing his hand between the clothes on the rack. His fingers bumped a latch.

“Secret sex dungeon? Brothel?” England teased.

Wrapping his free arm around England’s waist, he said, “You wish.” The latch clicked open and America led the way through. The door opened onto a narrow stair and down. It was dark until they reached the bottom and America clicked on the electric light. The room revealed itself, the equipment waiting to be used. On the far side of the room there was a door that was partially ajar and a table along one wall. “Doesn’t look like anything’s out of place. Did you want to try some?” “would you be offended if I said I was cautious about being poisoned?”

“Maybe a little,” America said. He turned around to look at England. He had left his hat upstairs, his hair slightly messy.

“And how much experience do you have in brewing?” England arched a brow as he reached up and smoothed the fly aways, futilely trying to smooth back that one piece to no avail.

“Oh, come on Arthur. My people have been brewing for a long time. I know what they know.” America stepped forward, relaxing. His shoulders had been tense since they had left the house. “You could try it and tell me how awesome it is.” “I guess.” He sighed dramatically.

Grinning, America directed him over to the long wooden table pressed up against the cool stone of the cellar. America picked out a few bottles from the shelf above. “Your choice, sweetheart.” “Which one’s your favorite?” Foregoing all decorum he hopped up on the table, leaning back on his hands.

“This one. You like lagers, right? Or will you only drink stuff that’s made your way?” America leaned into his space, holding up the dark colored bottle.

“I told you let me try yours.” England pointed out and took the bottle, bringing it to his lips with a grin. “Don't get any ideas.”

“Too late,” America said, watching England take a long drink.

England stared back at him as he lowered the bottle. He had been feeling territorial ever since he had happened upon Romano in America's flat. The feeling had only further increased with the realization that the bad tempered nation was harboring feelings for the taller blonde. England was territorial at a fault, there was a reason he had owned two thirds of the world, and it seemed this part of him had extended into his relations with America. A need had developed to remind America who he belonged to, whose bed he was not allowed to stray from. “It’ll do.” “It’s good, right? I’ve been trying to get my hands on some Kentucky hops, gives it a little more flavor.” He smiled at him, leaning on the table between England’s knees.

“So you've moved to German beers?” England whirled the bottle casually before giving the shelf of lagers a cool look.

“I learned how about fifty years ago. It’s the most popular right now, so it’s good business. Gilbert taught me.”

“Of course he did.” England rolled his eyes

“Are you worried about Gilbert now, too?” America asked, hands sliding up England’s trousers. “I didn’t sleep with him, either.”

“Who said I was worried about anything?” England scowled.

“I hope you’re not. But you’ve been edgy. Not that I didn’t enjoy earlier...” Brushing his fingers against England’s cheek, he leaned in for a quick kiss.

England turned his head with a frown. “What do you mean edgy?”

“At meetings lately. You’re scolding me one minute about my policies and then dragging me into empty offices and kissing me until I forget how to think. And today... you see Lovino in my house for five minutes and...” England’s frown deepened. “We don’t have to talk about it.” America kissed the corner of his mouth. “I’m mostly just glad I didn’t have to shoot anyone today. Those guys earlier... I’m going to make sure they get arrested tomorrow.” “Is it bothering you?” England crossed his arms. America didn't want to talk about it, but now he did.

“I didn’t say it was bothering, just that I’ve noticed. Just because I’m getting more important in the world... it doesn’t mean I’m gonna leave you behind.” England leaned away from America. “I'm the bloody British Empire. I don’t get left behind.”

“Yeah, I said you don’t have to worry because even though New York surpassed London as the economic center of the world... what? It’s true.” England muttered under his breath and finished off the bottle and gestured for another. This was not a talk he wanted to have right now. It wasn't something he was ready to seriously consider. From a political and economical standpoint it was one thing. But to bring it up between them personally was a whole different matter.

America pulled down another, handing it to England as he rested his hands on England’s legs. “Arthur?”

“What?” He frowned, lifting the bottle.

“Nothing. I said we didn’t have to talk about it.” He watched England for a moment and then stepped away, going further into the brewery for a moment. “Huh, I thought I put a bottle of gin was back here.” “You never say my name,” England said to the empty space. “Unless you want to talk about something.”

“Really?” America could be heard, rooting around behind some barrels.

England heaved a sigh and hopped off the table headed for the stairs. “I'm gonna go wash up.”

America appeared from around the side of the machinery. “If that’s what you want to do.”

“Yes. I believe I still have glass in my hair.” He climbed the first step, watching America. Waiting.

“Let me take a look.” He stepped closer, fingers reaching up to card through England’s hair.

“You are going to cut yourself.” England caught his wrists and shook his head. “Don’t be daft.”

“I’m being careful. It would be easier if you held still.” There was a thump on the floor above their heads. Footsteps.

“And Lovino is back.” England sighed. “I thought we were going to go back to one of your other flats?” He scowled and an idea popped into his head.

“I hope it’s him and not a housebreaker,” America said, looking up at the floor. “I can just tidy up a few things here and then we can go downtown or leave town entirely.” “We've got things to do first.” He grinned and pulled America up the step and into a harsh kiss. There was that feeling again, that territorial urge. He was going to make sure that Lovino knew who the younger blond belonged to.

America was clearly surprised at first, but then leaned into him and returned the kiss with just as much fervor. England wrapped his fingers in America’s suspenders and dragged him up the stairs and into the house. Pushing him against the wall there was no mistaking England's attentions as he palmed the front of Americas trousers, mouth dragging along his neck, teeth sinking into the skin beneath Americas ear. a wicked grin crawled up his face as the taller blond keened. “It's polite to ask for things, Alfred.” His voice thick with his own desire that was making itself known. He grinned as fingers dug into his shoulder blades.

“Just don’t stop, Arthur.” America’s hands slid over his back, his fingers pressing in along the way until they reached England’s back side. He took a better grip on him, lifting him up and pushing him into the wall on the other side of the hallway as he pressed his mouth against England’s.

“Manhandling!” England gasped, legs wrapping around America’s waist, fingers sliding into America's hair to pull his head back. “Patience, love,” he growled.

America smiled at him, his glasses askew. “Then you better make it worth the wait.” He pressed his face against England’s throat, kissing his pulse. With a shudder England pushed off the wall, grinning as the other stumbled back but didn't drop him.

“Up the stairs, boy,” he ordered teeth finding exposed skin as he began to work on the buttons of his shirt.

“I should tell Lovino he can...” He lost his train of thought as England bit down on his collarbone. He turned and moved towards the stairs. He stumbled and caught himself on the banister. “Fuck...” He laughed.

“Don't fall,” England breathed. Not even two seconds had passed when they heard a swear in Italian.

“Hey, Lovino, you can take the keys to my other place,” America said, hoisting England into a better grip in his arms. Peering over America's shoulder England fixed his eyes on Romano to judge his reaction.

Romano stared right back at him, face coloring. His brow furrowed and he glared at England. He whispered something under his breath and made a grab for the coat closet door they’d just exited. He disappeared into it, slamming the door shut behind him. They could hear him banging his way down the narrow stairwell.

“Or just go down there...” America muttered. “Where were we?”

“Getting ready to make you beg,” England crooned.

***

Sunset had turned the room to reds and golds. America’s bed was wide and he was sprawled across it, his head resting on England’s stomach. He pressed a kiss right below his rib cage and pushed himself up, trying to carefully climb over England despite the fact that every muscle in his body wanted to stay where it was. He touched a spot on his collarbone that England had been rather attentive to. He smiled, shaking his head. As he got to the edge of the bed and settled his legs over the side, he felt England’s arms around his waist, tugging him back toward the blankets.

“I’ve just gotta check on a few things. I’ll be right back.” He smoothed his hand over England’s to reassure him.

“Define right back,” England mumbled.

“Fifteen minutes?”

“And where?” England lazily placed a kiss to hip bone.

“Just downstairs. Go back to sleep, sweetheart, I’ll be back before you know it.” He reached down to lightly touch England’s hair. The desire to argue back was plain on England's face but the shorter British man remained silent for a moment before nodding and relaxing his grip.

“If you're not back when I wake I'll be furious with you.”

“Then make sure you sleep at least fifteen minutes,” America joked, sliding out of England’s grip. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, before leaving to gather his trousers and shirt off the floor. Pulling them on, he headed for the stairs, a little trickle of concern in the back of his mind. He glanced at the stairs to make sure England was still in the bedroom when he ducked into the coat closet and made his way down the stairs. The lights were still on in the brewery.

“Go away, asshole.” America came around the corner to see Romano sitting at the long table, multiple empty bottles having joined the ones England had finished earlier. The bottle of gin that had been missing was also there, far emptier than it had been the last time he’d seen it. “Don’t you have better things to do?” Pulling out one of the stools, America then thought better of it and leaned on the table. “I’m not stupid you know, you guys argued about something.” “What made you think that, jerk? I can’t believe I drank potato bastard style beer.” Romano leaned on his forearms and half-heartedly shoved at the bottle. “And that northern asshole’s liquor.” “I was wondering where that had gone actually.” America reached for it, but Romano pulled it away.

“It was down the tunnel a ways.” Romano stared at it and took another long draw. “Do you actually like him or do you just like sleeping with him?” The question was followed by a hiccup.

America stared at him, taken aback by the bluntness of the question. He colored. Even from two floors away, Romano had to be aware of what they’d been up to upstairs. “What sort of question is that?” Running a hand through his hair, Romano sighed. “I forget that you’re only a couple hundred years old sometimes. My mistake. Call me in about two hundred more years.” He stood up wobbly from the table.

Watching him go, America paused. “We’re still friend though, right?”

“Yeah, we’re still friends.”

***

“See, only fourteen minutes,” America said, crawling back into the bed and wrapping his arms around England’s waist. England grunted, he had almost been back to sleep yet curiosity had kept him from completely falling asleep.

“How drunk is he?”

“Probably four beers and half a bottle of gin. More than enough to regret it later. What did you say to him earlier?”

“We didn't really argue. He got caught I'd say,” England murmured rolling over to face America, tucking his head beneath the other’s chin. Sleep loosening his tongue.

“Caught?” America’s hands smoothed up his back.

“I'm positive he has a crush on you.” His yawn turned into a hum of pleasure at the touch.

Quiet for a moment, America’s hands paused. “Seriously? I don’t think so.” Then it dawned on him. “Maybe that’s why he told me to call him in two hundred years.” “He probably figures you'll be bored of my bed by that time,” England murmured, grunting in annoyance when the others hands remained unmoving.

“Or that you’ll get bored of me.” America’s hands resumed their previous track, thumbs pressing into the muscles of England’s back.

England groaned. “Not if you keep doing that,” he promised, draping a leg over America's hip.

“Good to know. I don’t think two hundred years will dull a moment of this.” He kissed the top of England’s head.

“Sap,” England muttered. He wouldn't reject the notion, but he wouldn't verbally agree no matter how much he wanted to do it.

America hummed. “Tomorrow, you should help me load up the car and we can run some liquor into Wisconsin,” he teased. England cracked open an eye to look at him.

“I'm going back to Canada.”

“We can go through Minnesota. Two days, babe. You promised.”

England heaved a sigh. This conversation was forcing him to wake up more than he wanted. “That was a threat, git. If you want to do illegal runs during my time here then I'm going back to Canada.” “Fine.” America drew out the word, tilting England’s chin so he could kiss him. “We can hop a train to DC in the morning.”

“Why ever would we do that?”

“Because then you can keep me away from my criminal impulses.” He cupped the back of England’s head.

“What if I don't want to go to DC?” England rolled onto his back so the other had to lean over him. In the glow of the sunset Americas hair took a sheen of gold. Reaching up England removed the boys glasses and set them down carefully before running his fingers through America's hair. Lovino's comments had struck a chord in him. Others were noticing America, seeing him now as fully fledged nation. At least one nation had developed feelings of adoration for the boy. America was out there in the world, doing things that had nothing to do with him. He was truly separate. Running his thumbs along America’s hairline he moved to smooth out the furrow in the youngers brow as he looked at him in questioning. England found that he was unable to verbalize the emotions churning through his chest as his slid the thumb of his right hand gently down the bridge of America's nose before sliding down to brush over his lower lip, his eyes tracing his own movements. For now America belonged to him, in this moment. But a constant nudge of fear was rearing its ugly head deep in his chest. He was not guaranteed that America would be his in two hundred years. There wasn't. He pushed the fear away for another time, not wanting to acknowledge it now.

“Then where?” America said, catching England’s finger in his mouth.

England watched him for a moment before breathing. “I want to spend the day out of the cities, I want to walk through the countryside in all that sunshine with no hustle and bustle in that slow country way and eat their foods…” He touched America’s cheek bones. “And then I want you to whisk me back to the city and to another one of those clubs... and I want you to get jealous all over again and then spend the night making me remember who I belong to.” His cheeks grew hot. He didn't know where this was coming from. But the desire was so strong he had to get it out.

America’s eyes searched his, completely caught off guard. His hands found England’s cheek, stroking his thumb over the curve. He kissed him, mouth soft against England’s. As he pulled away, his cheeks turned pink and a soft smile spread across his face. “I can make that happen.” “Then I might be persuaded to stay an extra day even.” England smiled back for a second before scowling and looking away. “Stop staring, git.” “I don’t think you’ve ever been this cute. I’m savoring the moment.” He kissed England’s rapidly warming cheeks.

“Gentlemen aren't cute!” England growled, trying to roll away.

America caught him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him against his chest. “You are though.”

“Prat” England scowled before saying primly. “You have me in your bed and all you're going to do is chat at me? I no longer even have the desire for a cigarette.” America leaned in for a kiss, but paused. “Do you hear that?”

“All I hear is your blabbering when you could be using that mouth for better things.” His voice dropped to low growl at the thought and he pulled America down to catch the kiss.

Kissing him for a moment, America then pulled away, putting his hand over England’s mouth when he tried to say something. He sat up. “Shhh, there’s someone in the house.” “Yes, Lovino.” England pulled Americas hand away from his mouth with a frown. “Are you just not ready yet?”

“He left,” America said, climbing off him and pulling his trousers back on. He picked up one of his holsters and pulled out the pistol. He went over to the door, listening into the hallway. He held up two fingers. Then he added a third one.

England got out of the bed with a frown and walked over to the door with him, knuckles cracking. “What?”

“I think there are three. I can handle ‘em, just stay here.” He leaned out into the hall, checking to see if they had started up the stairs. The metallic pop of a clip being loaded was easily heard.

“Who the hell is it?” England whispered “I’m not blasted staying here.”

“We’ll find out in a sec.” America tilted the door closed, picking up his other pistol. He offered it to England. “Might want to put on some pants, babe. ‘Cause we’re probably gonna be headed out of here as soon as we take out these guys.” England scowled and ducked back inside the room, grabbing his trousers off the floor and stepped into them as a click sounded. He whirled around to see the bedroom door close. “Alfred you did not just lock that,” he hissed.

There wasn’t an answer, only the soft padding of footsteps on the floor. There were footsteps on the stairs, a thud. Gunfire.

“Alfred!” England snapped and yanked on the door, kicking it. “Come back here!” he shouted, shaking the door knob violently. Heavy footsteps sounded down the hall and England stepped back with a scowl. “I can't believe-” There was a gun in his face. The door was splintered, hanging open, there was a gun in his face. And a hand on his throat. It wasn't Alfred. A large man grinned at him.

“Perfect! We needed the leverage against Jones.” He grinned, hand squeezing tighter around his throat. England's hands remained up, eyes wide.

“Let him go!” America’s shout could be heard from down the hall. There was a groan rising from the bottom of the stairs. The man swung England around, shoving him out into the hallway first. England could see America now, a gangster out cold right behind him. The other must have ended up at the bottom. He had the pistol extended. “If you let him go, you can take your men and get out of here.” The man pushed England in front of him with a snort. England had gone from being shocked to being pissed. He was supposed to be sleeping. Or having sex. Not being used in a hostage situation. He shot America a glare before coughing as the man tightened his grip. “You've fucked up, Jones.” “You’re going to find out that the only one fucked here is you if you don’t let him go.” He eyed the man. “I’m a crack shot.”

England grunted as the man pulled him backwards. “There's a car waiting downstairs for you. Go get into it and I let him go,” the gangster said.

“No. You’ve got until the count of three to let him go.” He leveled his shot. “One.”

“Downstairs, Jones.” He tightened his grip and England coughed loudly his hands flying to his assailants.

America’s eyes narrowed. “Two.”

England's cough turned into a yelp as the man nearly lifted him off his feet, toes dragging the carpet as the man ducked behind him. “Car now, Jones!” The man shouted as he pressed the gun into England’s temple.

“Kill him, Alfred!” England croaked.

“Three.” Flash. Bang.

The gun dropped to the floor as the hands loosened. The body fell with a thud a moment later. England could feel the man’s blood on the side of his face and a slight burn from where the bullet had passed close to his scalp. The gangster groaned on the floor. England stared at him, the shot had been close. Enough to disable the man, but not a kill shot.

America closed the distance between them in a moment. “You okay?”

England touched the side of his face, that was going to take a bit to heal. He lowered his hand to see the red on his fingertips. “I need a shower.” Smoothing his fingers over England’s cheeks, America nodded. “You go ahead. I’m gonna call the police and get this cleaned up.” He checked the singed part of England’s hair.

“Of course.” England nodded looking at the bodies before stepping over the body to get to the washroom. “I'm going to need a haircut now.” He sighed as he stepped into the bathroom.

***

The police came and went, taking the gangsters away to the county jail. America couldn’t look at England as he packed their things and loaded them up into the car. They were about an hour on the road and pulling into a fuel station when America finally spoke.

“I’m done.”

“Done with what?”England looked up from his book. He peered over his glasses at America. He had leaned seat back, shoes had come off and he had propped his socked feet on the dash. America had made it clear he didn't want to talk so England had turned to his book instead.

“With the bootlegging. It’s... not worth it. The law is gonna get reversed at some point. Then maybe it’ll slow down.”

England watched him for a moment. That could change by tomorrow morning. That's how things usually worked. “All right.” He nodded and turned back to his book.

America gripped the steering wheel. “You don’t believe me?”

“I didn't say that. I said all right.” He turned the page.

“Okay.” America got out to fuel up the vehicle and soon they were on the road again. The farther they went the more America relaxed, his demeanor changing as they crossed the stateline into Indiana. He was far more cheerful as they began to drive deeper into the farmland.

“I may have dipped into the brewery.” England admitted into the silence.

America glanced at him. “You did?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “I loaded up a bag just in case.”

America threw him a lop-sided smile. “Brought some of my illegal liquor to the country did you?”

“Of course I did.” England turned a page. “Speaking of drinks I kind of want one.”

“Well, good timing because we’re almost there.” America pulled off onto a side road and the vehicle bumped along a dirt road. The small farmhouse came into view. It was nestled beneath a large tree. Cutting the engine, America smiled at him. “Let’s go inside.” “Wow... its quaint.” England stared at the building.

“You’ll like it. We can drink beer and no one is going to bother us this time.”

“Is there a market or something nearby?” He pulled his feet off the dash so he could slip back into his shoes, letting America deal with the luggage. _Might as well put that monstrous strength to some use because I'm certainly not getting its use_ , he thought dryly.

“Yeah, I can go later. There’s probably enough dry goods to get us by for a bit.”

“What if I wanted to go?” England asked, following up the small path after Alfred.

“If you really want to.”

“I do.” England nodded as they stepped inside and he whistled quietly.

“I told you that I could make the country happen.” America stepped in behind England and wrapped his arms around his waist. England turned and cupped his cheek. He pressed a soft kiss to his mouth.

“Three days.”

America grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you've been enjoying our story please leave a comment or a kudo!
> 
> Sorry it was a few weeks in between chapters there, there was some January funk going around and a short trip! 
> 
> Next up: The transatlantic phone cable is up and running and the boys take a trip to Hollywood.


	14. Can you hear me now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Telephone service via radio is finally possible across the Atlantic and America invites England out for a few days in the California sunshine!

_1927_

_London, England_

“Lord Kirkland... Lord Kirkland... you... you have a call.” Stanley’s voice pulled England from his sleep. Turning over, England glared at his valet stood over him, eyes full with sleep and confusion furrowing his brow.

“What the bloody hell do you mean a phone call?” He looked to the grandfather clock across from the foot of his bed. “It is three am, who the bloody hell would be calling me?” England scowled and Stanley sighed.

“It's a transatlantic call, sir.” He sighed and England stared at him, the gears in his head turning slowly. Then it clicked.

“That fucking git!” The line crackled to life as America waited impatiently on the other side. Before he could even get out a word England was shouting into the phone. “What the bloody fuck are you doing!?”

“Arthur! I can hear you all the way over here! Isn’t that great? I could call you any time! You heard about the announcement, right?” His voice popped on the line, some of the words fading in and out.

“America,” England hissed.

“Yeah! AT&T hooked us up. New York to London! Would have saved us a lot of trouble back in the day, huh?”

“America!”

There was silence on the other end. Then a muted, “What?”

“What bloody time is it in America?” England said slowly, sitting heavily against the chair, rubbing at his eyes. He wasn't mad that the other had called him, but the timing was awful.

“Uh...” England could just imagine him peering at the clock on his mantle. “It’s 10 pm. I had to deal with some stuff before I could try out the line for myself. Then I had to wait since it can only handle so much at a time... Don’t tell me you started going to bed early, old man?”

“If it’s 2200 hours in New York then what time is it in London?”

Silence again. Then laughter. “I didn’t even think about that. Your staff probably thought I was calling about something bad, huh?” More laughter.

“You are awful.” England slumped against the table, running his hands through his hair. That had been a thought.

“Nah, everything is great, minus a few natural disasters you know.” A crackle. “I just wanted to call you.”

“Oh...”England sighed into the receiver. “Although next time I would ask that you call at a reasonable hour.” He thought back to his oversized bed. “If you are going to wake me at this hour, next time it better be-” He felt the heat creep up the back of his neck. “Because you are here and you’re ready for sleep as well.”

A long static silence. “You cut out there at the end. I guess there are still some kinks to work out. What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing.” England shook his head.

“Damn, I was hoping to hear you say you wanted me in your bed twice.” England swore he could hear the smile despite the distance.

“Fuck off you git!”

Laughter again. “I can’t believe I can actually hear you yelling at me instead of just having to imagine it when I read a telegram.”

“I'm going to hang up on you.”

“Don’t do that. I want to savor the moment.”

“Then stop being rude,” England lectured and leaned back in his seat.

“Talk to me about something. I read that book you sent me, about the kid and the bear. Milne or something was the author?”

“Alan Alexander Milne. Yes, he wrote Winnie the Pooh.”

“I liked the story. Maybe someday I’ll make a movie.”

“Perhaps, perhaps.” He yawned.

“You should come visit. Or I could come visit you. Can you think of an excuse?” There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment and then all America could hear was soft breathing coming through the crackling of the connection.

***

“Arthur?” America said, leaning onto his desk and closer to his mouthpiece. The soft breathing continued and he smiled. “Good night, sweetheart. I’ll talk to you later.” He set the phone down on the cradle, the clang sounding as the phone sent the signal to the switchboard operator to disconnect. He closed his eyes, picturing England in his big office chair, the receiver still tucked up under his ear.

He yawned and stretched, getting up from his desk and heading to bed. He crawled into bed and wrapped his arms around a pillow. Hearing England’s voice had set off an ache in his stomach. It had been exciting and strange to know that England had been able to jump out of his bed in London and talk to him from so far. The technology had taken too long.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he whispered into the darkness, already planning how he could find a way for them to speak face to face.

***

_May 16, 1929_

_Hollywood, California_

America grinned when he saw England step off the train at the station. Flowers spilled out in every open space, the dryness of summer not yet catching them unawares. It was early morning, the air thick with moisture from a rain the night before. The foliage glowed green and America waved, catching England’s attention. England turned toward him.

“Well, good morning.” England maneuvered through the crowd with his luggage gripped tightly in his hands.

“Let me get that,” America said, hoisting one of the bags onto his shoulder with no effort. He eyed England’s clothes for a moment. “I hope you packed something lighter, you’ll cook otherwise.”

England sniffed. “Are we heading back to your place I suppose?”

“At first, but then I thought we could go out to the pier at Santa Monica and then I thought we could go to the movies tonight,” America said as he walked to his car and loaded England’s bags in the back. Following after him, England let out a low whistle.

“A boattail speedster... 120?” England ran his hand along the cherry red color of the vehicle. He walked over to the driver’s side of the vehicle.

“Pretty swell, huh?” America watched England’s open admiration of the vehicle. “You want to drive it?”

“If you insist.” England shrugged with nonchalance.

America gestured for him to get behind the wheel, hopping into the passenger side. “Remember, we drive on the _right_ side of the road.”

“I am fully aware that you drive on the wrong side of the road.” England sniffed and climbed in, smoothing his hands carefully over the wheel and pumped the gas, grinning wildly as he pulled out of the spot sharply.

America grabbed the side. “Woah, careful! You scratch my car...” he warned, glancing at England.

“I am not going to scratch your car.” He gestured for America to calm before he shot the other a wicked smile. “But I'll scratch an itch for you when we get to your place.”

America smiled back at him. “Then you better take a right up ahead.”

The ornate buildings near the train gave way to large houses reminiscent of designs from Europe. America gave him a few more directions and they were soon pulling up a drive towards a large house draped in vegetation. As the engine puttered to silence, the crash of waves could be heard in the distance. “It’s one of my new houses. Decided to go big with this one.”

“Obviously.” England stared up at the building as he stepped out of the vehicle shaking his head. “This tour is going to take forever.”

“Or not.” America pulled England’s bags out of the back and walked towards the front door. “We have to take these to my bedroom first.”

“Your hosting skills need some work, Alfred.” He shook his head as he followed America past a lavish sitting room and barely caught a glimpse of a modern kitchen and then up the stairs of a large staircase. Everything was sleek and right out of a painting of the rich Los Angeles lifestyle. Pulling up the drive England had stole a glance at the manicured lawns and the walkways disappearing in unknown acres.

“Well, the view is best from up here. If you look west you can see the Pacific. If you look up into the hills you can see the Hollywoodland sign.” America elbowed open a door onto a large bedroom, a wide set of glass doors on the opposite side leading to a balcony view.

“That's gorgeous.” England followed him into the bedroom and walked over to the balcony, pushing the doors open to step outside.

“There’s just something about California,” America said, walking up behind him and wrapping his arms around his middle. “Maybe I’ll introduce you to some movie stars if you’re nice to me.” America kissed his cheek.

England swatted at him with a scowl and pushed away. “Not a chance.”

“That you’ll be nice to me?” He leaned on the balcony rail, the sunlight striking his hair as it rose higher in the sky.

“That you're getting anything from me.” England shook his head and headed back into the room towards his luggage.

America leaned on the balcony door frame. “What exactly do you think I’m angling for?”

“You are not allowed to kiss or touch me,” England announced as he hoisted his luggage onto the bed.

“Unless I do what?” America asked. “This better not be about politics.”

England glared at him over his shoulder as he yanked open his case. “What haven’t you said to me since I arrived!?”

America stared at him, his mouth lifting at the corner. “Well, I couldn’t exactly greet you properly at the train station.”

“You didn't even say hello!” He turned away and unpacked his bag.

America came around the bed and flopped down on it so he was in England’s eyeline. “Hello, Arthur.” He smiled at him.

“Twit.” England scowled and dropped a package on his lap.

“What’s this?” America asked, picking it up and examining it.

“Sweeties. Fruit salad, black jacks and sherbert fountains.”

America grinned. “Thanks!” He tore into the package, pulling out one of the candies and popped it into his mouth. He closed his eyes, making happy sounds as he savored it. England shook his head and grabbed a set of clothes and made his way to the master bath with a clearing of his throat.

America watched him from his place on the bed. “Later I’ll have to show you my pool.”

“With a chair and an umbrella I hope.” He didn't bother to close the door as he stripped. America scooted across the bed so he could better watch him. His fingers itched to touch him, to soothe the lines of stress on England’s face. To convince him to forget the world for the evening. He smiled. He had some ideas of how to accomplish it.

“I was thinking I could get you in the pool.” He heard England’s scoff. “Oh come on, I’ve seen you wade. But yes, there is a chair and some shade. You’re not so charming when you’re sunburned.”

“Why would I willingly enter into a pool?” England leaned against the doorframe, intentionally leaving his trousers and shirt undone. An open invitation.

“Well...” America drew out the word as he pushed himself up from the bed and walked over to him. He reached out and ran his fingers down England’s shirt collar. “‘Cause I’m going swimming.”

“And?” England arched a brow.

America stepped closer. “And... Better view.” His fingers slipped from England’s shirt and hooked into the band of England’s trousers.

“Is that so, huh?” England closed the space between them with cocksure ease. “Are we no longer going to the pier?”

“You’re not getting out of going to the pier. You’re getting a hot dog and riding the roller coaster.” America leaned forward. “Am I allowed to kiss you yet?”

“Since you remembered your manners I suppose I could be amiable.” England heaved a sigh, feigning taxation.

America grinned, hooking his fingers beneath England’s chin and directing him into a kiss. He tugged on England’s waist band as he pressed harder.

***

Drapinghis arms around America’s neck, England kissed him deeply, it had been several years since they had physically seen each other and the rigidity of America’s body against his own confirmed that he wasn't the only one affected by the estrangement.

America walked him backwards, yanking England’s shirt off. The tile was cold under his feet and against his back as he was pushed against a wall. America shrugged out of his shirt, his hands immediately coming back to England’s trousers and shoving them down his legs. “Missed you.” Shoving the clothes away, he reached over and soon hot water was splashing down on their heads.

“Fuck,” England swore at the contrast, biting at America’s mouth he shove the other off, pushing him belly first against the other wall, slick skin on skin, hot breath and biting nails.

America reached behind him, grasping England’s hand and bringing his arm around his chest, America clung to him. His other hand braced against the wall. He pushed back against England, until his body eased and discomfort and desperation were replaced with pleasure. It was familiar and America wanted more. “Harder,” he groaned.

“Who are you to demand anything!?” England hissed and shoved America back against the wall, reaching for a bar of soap to his right he kicked America’s ankles further apart.

“I’m me.” America turned his head, pressing his cheek against the shower wall. He grinned. “And I said harder.” England grabbed his hair, leaning up to kiss him. America turned slightly, drawing England closer, the bar of soap clattering to the floor.

“No,” England barked and shoved Americas chest to the wall. “Stay or you can finish yourself off,” he punctuated the threat.

“Arthur...” America groaned. “C’mon, sweetheart.” He reached for him.

England pushed his hand away. “Hush! I'm fucking you against the wall!”

“Figured.” Complete sentences were becoming a challenge, relief racing through his body when England’s hands came back. “Hurry up...”

England's teeth found his shoulder after he muttered a ‘fuck you’ as he rammed the other against the wall. The steam in the bathroom not only from the shower.

Gasping, America pressed back with his hips, meeting England in each movement. He pressed his forehead against his forearm braced against the wall. One of England’s hands spread across his belly, America grabbing his hand and sliding it lower.

“Nuh uh.”England gasped in his ear and pulled his hand back to grab America’s thigh, hoisting his leg high. “Only like this,” he hissed. Time became immeasurable until they collapsed into a graceless heap beneath the lukewarm spray.

America lifted his head from the wet tile, turning around to cradle England against his chest. He kissed him softly. His limbs still shaking.

“You tit.” England sighed, slumping against the other.

“Jackass,” America teased. He patted England’s thigh. He reached up and turned off the water that had started to go cold.

“You tried to take control again. Cute,” he shot back.

“I got what I wanted, babe.” He kissed him on the side of the head. “If you want me to fuck you against the wall all you have to do is ask.” He patted England’s thigh again. Kicking at America, England rolled away with a snort of disgust.

“Not a chance, boy.”

“Nothing is impossible.” He grinned up at England, stretching his limbs. He grabbed hold of England’s ankle when he tried to aim another kick at him.

“Prat,” England hissed. He didn't know why he was in a foul mood. Sex usually made him much more amiable. Yet, this time it made him upset. A simple round of messy fucking had upset him. The realization curled in his belly. He had wanted sex after so many years but not this. “Let me go.”

“No, come here.” When England didn’t relent, a furrow appeared on America's forehead. “Why won’t you let me hold you?”

“Laying on the floor is filthy,” England muttered and left the bathroom, grabbing a towel on the way out he moved into the bedroom. Rubbing the towel over himself England moved over to his luggage and sat on the bed after wrapping the towel around himself.Now he was tired. It was barely after sunrise and one didn’t sleep much on crowded ships or trains. He felt a brief pang for his own ship.

America appeared in the bathroom doorway, his underwear pulled back on as he ran the towel over his hair. His glasses were still speckled with water as he sat down on the bed beside him. He sneezed, reaching for a handkerchief sitting on the bedside stand. “You don’t usually leave me cold after...” He put his hand in between them, an offer for England to take it.

Englandstared at it for a moment before flopping back on the bed and staring at him. America watched him for a moment as though he were worried it was some kind of trap. He leaned backward, coming to rest on his side, looking at England. He lay his hand on England’s chest, scooting closer and laying his head on his shoulder. “Did I do something?”

“No.” England shook his head and grabbed the edge of the top sheet and pulled it over them, disrupting the other to roll onto his side as well.

“Then what?” He pulled off his glasses and moved them above their heads so he could press his face against England’s neck.

“Forget about it.” England shook his head and pushed America back carefully so he could lean in and kiss him.

Wrapping his arms around him, America kissed him back. They traded soft kisses for several minutes, before America pulled back to plant a kiss on the end of England’s nose. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I'm glad the trip is over.” He rolled over to sit on the other, remaining beneath the blankets as his towel came off.

“Well, the Panama Canal sure makes the trip shorter. I wanted to pick you up at the dock, but I got stuck in a meeting with the governor. At least the train wasn’t a wooden bench packed to the gills like it used to be.” His hands slid over England’s skin, drawing him back into a kiss.

“Making it difficult.” He snapped the band of America’s undergarments with a look before kissing him deep.

America lifted up his hips, sliding them off as best he could with England’s weight on him. When England returned to his arms after finishing the job, he kissed him again, one hand cupping the back of England’s head.

England's mouth curved upwards against his in a grin. “Young men,” he chuckled and America shifted beneath him in sudden anticipation, England reciprocating the movement...

***

England stared at the ceiling with a lazy expression, watching the smoke from his cigarette curl up towards the ceiling. His free hand stroked America's hair as the other lay with his head on his belly, a satiated expression on his face. “There now we can go to the pier,” he exhaled.

“Excellent,” America replied, smiling up at him. “You’re gonna love it.”

“If you say so.” England eyed the cigarette in his hand thoughtfully.

America leaned up, turning to crawl over England and kissed him. “I’m gonna be there. How can you not love it?”

“Wow, you’re cocksure.” He exhaled into America's face.

Coughing, America climbed off him. “C’mon let’s get dressed.” He patted England’s ankle. England heaved an exaggerated sigh and finished off his cigarette, rolling out of bed.

***

The pier was still slow by the time they arrived in America’s car. He parked on the street, ushering England out onto the pier. It was mostly adults, youths still in school in the middle of a Thursday. The pier stretched along the beach before it jutted out over the water. The roller coaster rattled, drawing the eye away from a few beach goers hauling long wooden boards towards the ocean, a sport that had only become more popular in the last decade. America tugged on England’s sleeve, directing him toward their destination.

“You plan to eat before going on that death trap?” England shot him a look that clearly said he thought the other was crazy.

“No, we’re gonna go on it and then eat.” America patted him on the shoulder.

“You're going to go on it and then eat?”

“Nope, we’re both going. It’ll be fun.” He glanced back from the roller coaster to England. “Unless you’re chicken.”

“You have no right to call me that, brat.” England scowled.

“Then prove it. I’ll race you to the line.”

“I am not running! That is completely undignified!”

“You’re just afraid I’m gonna win!” America grinned at him and took a few quick steps toward the roller coaster.

“You run and hurt something you'll be laid up in bed alone the entire time I'm here,” England warned.

“You only say that because you know I’ll win.” America offered him a grin.

Closing the space between them he whispered. “Is it worth trying?”

“We both know that you’d sit with me if I got hurt. C’mon, we’re getting on the roller coaster.”

“I, wasn't talking about sitting, Alfred,” England drawled.

America pouted. “Ride it with me, Artie.”

England heaved a sigh. “Fine, fine... as long as we can eat afterwards... I'm famished. I haven't eaten since yesterday.”

Brightening instantly, America said, “Sure thing!”

***

“I am not getting on that death trap.” England stared up at the wooden coaster with a look of horror. It looked even worse up close. “Absolutely not. It's not happening, Alfred.” He shook his head. It was massive and creaky and the people on board the metal cars, that rattled and shrieked as the wheels ran the track, were screaming with either fright or delight. It didn't matter to England. They were screaming.

“You already said you would. It’s totally safe. It’s the same idea as a train, just...” America tilted his head. “Faster and on a hill. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

England took a deep breath, eyes closing as the memory surged forward. Train wheels screeching and people screaming. Victoria station. “It reminds me of the war.” He opened his eyes to stare at the ride.

America paused, putting his hands in his pockets. He shifted on his feet for a moment and then reached out and pulled England into a hug. “Are you okay?”

“You git! We are in public!” He pulled away from the other quickly, staring at him like he had grown two heads before looking around to see if anyone was watching them.

“It’s not like I tried to hold your hand or something...” America shrugged. “I guess I could feed you, maybe then you won’t feel so shell-shocked. Can’t worry when you’re eating.”

“Let's just go.” England shook his head in exasperation and walked into the crowd to get into the line.

A worried expression appeared on America’s face, but he followed England into the crowd. “Seriously, Arthur. If you’d rather eat...”

“No, you want to ride the ride so let's ride the ride.”

“It’s fun.” He patted him on the shoulder again and went to get their tickets.

***

“You lying prat.” England stumbled off the ride, white as a sheet.

America examined, the red marks on his arm where England has gripped him. “You’ve flown airplanes, that’s way more intense than that...” He looked at England’s face and hauled him out of the middle of the path in case he should throw up. “Hey, it wasn’t that bad was it?” Tucked into an alleyway between two buildings America took advantage of the relative seclusion to rub a hand up and down England’s back.

“That was crazy,” England exhaled and then swatted him, cheeks pinking in his normal temperament. “You were laughing!”

“Because I think it’s fun... it’s like, going along for the ride! You don’t have to think.”

“I'm guessing you are going to want to go again?” he asked dryly. Before either of them could say anything more they were interrupted by the growling of England's stomach.

Chuckling, America hooked an arm around England’s shoulder. “Nah, now I owe you a hot dog.”

England's nose wrinkled in disgust, but he was starving so he would take it in stride. “Well, let's get to it.”

They made their way down the pier towards the smell of food wafting out of stands and the doorways of buildings. It mixed with the sea air of the spring day. America directed England to wait by the railing and he disappeared into a mass of people to get them something to eat.

Leaning against the wooden boards, England closed his eyes, head tilted back and used the opportunity to soak up the sunshine. He could already tell he was going to get a sunburnt if he was out here much longer but watching America get so excited about everything was worth it. It didn’t take long for America to return, shooing a seagull that had landed on the rail and was eying the food with voraciousness. “Here you go!” America said, handing England the sausage wrapped in bread settled precariously on a piece of newspaper. 

“It’s sausage, why call it a dog?” England took the food with subtle eagerness. It smelled amazing and he really was hungry. He eyed the smearing of mustard on the top and glanced at America in question.

“Did you want more stuff on it? I can make that happen.” America took a large bite of his own, ketchup escaping one end of the bun.

England shook his head and turned his attention to his own meal. Folding back the newspaper carefully with his fingers he lifted the concoction carefully. A thought came to his mind as he stared at it and he shook his head to clear it, gentleman didn't have such thoughts. Careful not to spill he leaned forward and took a bite,careful to mask his shock. It was delicious!

“Good?” America asked. His cheeks were a little pink as he watched England eat.

“Your face is getting a sunburnt,” England responded before taking a larger bite. He needed a fork and knife next time and an actual plate.

America rubbed at his cheek for a moment. “Yeah, that must be it.” He didn’t look away.

This wasn't England's first rodeo. Dragging his thumb across his bottom lip as if to make sure he was clean he smiled at the other and said lowly. “Unless you are thinking of inappropriate things.” He would sacrifice his manners for the moment for the enjoyment of torturing the other. Taking an overdrawn and suggestive bite, he made sure his face was hidden by the folded paper to the public walking around him.

“Huh?” America’s blush deepened.

“Think on it, love.” He shrugged and turned his attention back to finishing his meal. America chewed thoughtfully on his hot dog, watching England out of the corner of his eye. When it dawned on him, he choked, coughing.

England chuckled and finished his last bite slowly, licking his thumb as he looked at America with an innocent smile. Still flushed, America tried to look stern, but it was hard to take him seriously since it was clear he was still thinking about it..

“But we are here to play.” England crumpled up the paper and gestured around the pier. “So let's go play.”

“Huh? Yeah, I’ll um...” He pointed back towards the walk. “Let’s go play some games.”

“Yes, yes and then for dinner.” England began to walk in the direction. “And I'll be so tired that when we get back I am going to pass right out. No energy for anything else.”

America glanced at him sidelong, smiling. “No movie then, huh? Dinner is gonna be some shindig though.”

“No, no.” England shook his head. “We will go to everything.”

“I plan to wear you out.” America grinned.

***

_That evening..._

“Arthur, we have to get there early,” America said, looking down at his watch. The gesture wasn’t always automatic, considering that they hadn’t been common to wear until after the war.

“When did you start worrying about punctuality?” Walking out of the bathroom, England smoothed out the front of his purple vest.

“We won’t want to be late.” Looking up, America took him in head to toe. “You slicked your hair back.”

“No.”England frowned. “It just hasn't dried from the washing.”

America whistled. “That’s too bad, it looks sharp.” He walked around him, examining his clothes. “You do look British though.”

“I slicked it back last time we went out and you had nothing to say about it!” England scowled “And of course I do! I am British!”

Stopping in front of him, America put a hand on his cheek. “I liked it then, too,” he said, pressing a kiss on his forehead. “I suppose you’ll do,” he teased.

England's eyes narrowed and he brushed America’s hand away. “Maybe I should have let that man in the club take me home?”

“No way!” He wrapped his arms around England, ignoring the protest that their clothes would be wrinkled. “Because we make the world go ‘round.”

England snorted. “Whatever are you on about!?”

“Give me an inch, it’s romantic.” America kissed him. “We can’t be late,” he said, as much to himself as to England. He tapped his watch and went to grab his jacket off a hook in the closet.

“No,” England said firmly, not budging.

“No?” America asked. Turning to look at him, he shrugged on his jacket.

“I'm not leaving until you do it right.”

America came back and took England’s hands. He pulled him close, their hands twined in between them. He leaned close, the kiss soft at first, just brushing his lips against England’s. He released one of his hands and his fingers ghosted over England’s cheek. He twined his fingers in the back of England’s hair and deepened the kiss. Joy spread through his chest. “I hope you’re not going to be too tired after dinner, because...” He trailed off and kissed him again.

“So, so needy,” England murmured kissing him back with a soft sigh, pressing against the other lazily.

“I want it all, haven’t you guessed?” America wrapped one arm around his back, kissing him again. The clock downstairs chimed and America pulled back. “Tarnation, we’re going to be late!”

“Just drive fast.” England shrugged, fixing America's shirt where it wasn't tucked in properly to his trousers. He shrugged. “If I didn't know any better...”

“Know any better, what?”

“You are hiding something.”

“It’s a surprise.” America smiled at him.

“All right, all right.” England sighed, dragging his finger along the top of America’s pants. “Let's go.”

As they drove, America chatted on and on about films. Which did England think was best? There was a flurry of actors’ names, some he knew and some he didn’t. Talkies and silent films. The size of the film reels. They pulled into a line of cars at a hotel, the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. Soon a valet came to take the car and America ushered England to follow him towards the large open doors. The other vehicles that pulled up were lavish, well-dressed people going inside.

“So what are we exactly going to?”

“A party for the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences. They’re starting to give out awards. You might recognize some people.” America waved at several people across the room.

“This is black tie and you let me out in purple,” England hissed, looking around.

“It’s California,” America said. It was true, the usual black tie rules appeared a little lax. “And the banquet hall is full, when we’re at the table no one will notice.” Handing over their tickets they were ushered into a room filled with tables. Lights were strung from the ceiling and voices rumbled as people talked.

England heaved a sigh and ran his hands through his hair. “I... can I get a drink?”

“They’re just going to think you’re daring.” America herded him over to their table. “I’ll go to the bar. Prohibition is still in effect, but I’ll find something. Someone’s definitely got something in their sleeves.”

“A brandy if you can find it.” England sighed, shooing him away. Turning around he looked across the way, eyes widening as a man moved in front of him. “Lloyd? Frank Lloyd!?” The man in question turned around at his name and stared at him for a moment before he laughed.

“Well, I'll be. It's the younger Lord Kirkland.” He grinned, changing his direction.

“I haven't seen you since the stage.” England shook the man's hand. “Whatever are you doing here? Are you up for an award of some sort of chap?” Before the man could answer America appeared at England's elbow.

“Yeah, he was nominated for three movies. _The Divine Lady, Drag, and Weary River,_ right? You got one of them.” When England turned to look at him as though he spoiled the surprise. “They announced who won, this is just the awards ceremony.”

“Yes, _The Divine Lady_ did rather well.”

“Love to see it as a talkie,” America said.

“That would be something wouldn't it?" Lloyd smiled and a woman waving at him caught his attention. “If you would excuse me, sir, I do have a previous engagement I must see to.” He nodded in respect and slipped back into the crowd.

“To think I'd see Frank again on this side of the pond.” England shook his head.

“Mr. Chaplin is from England too, although he was a kid when he moved here. They’re both mine now, by the way,” America teased, elbowing him gently in the ribs.

With an un-amused expression England looked athim. For a moment then he grinned. “Well, then they belong to me still.”

“No way! Totally mine.” He started to walk toward their table. “Hey, do you see Mr. Arlen over there? He was in one of the winning movies. He hopped the border to Matt’s place so he could join the Royal Flying Corps during the war.”

“So that one does really belong to me,” England drawled, taking a sip of brandy.

“He was on loan.” America smiled at him. “Clara!” A pretty young woman turned, her dark curls bobbing around her face. She smiled and hurried over.

“Mr. Jones, so you did come after all.”

“I told you, you could call me Alfred. I had to see if my colleague was going to hop the pond. Miss Clara Bow, this is Arthur Kirkland. He’s a big fan of movies, even when he won’t admit it.”

“It's a pleasure ma’am.” England inclined his head. “I have seen your performance at the palace, it was wonderful. You are a very talented young woman.” He smiled.

She beamed. “Thank you, Mr. Kirkland.”

“What movies are you going to be in this year?” America asked and when she looked at him to answer, her name was called out again. “We can talk later, go see your fans.” She gave them one last smile and hurried off into the crowd.

“So that one belongs to me as well.” England grinned and when America began to argue England closed space between them, closer than appropriate. “Because you belong to me correct?” England murmured, fingers brushing over the top of Americas waistband before sticking his hand into Americas pocket to pull out a fold of matches he had snuck in there when the other hadn't been paying attention.

America turned red. “That depends, do you belong to me?” he said, voice low so no one else could hear.

“That depends... am I going to have to buy more tomorrow morning?” His pupils dilated as he put the matches in America’s palm and snapped open the silver case. “I have six more.” He took one out and shut the case, sticking it into his trouser pocket.

“I’ve got you covered, babe. You’re gonna run out of cigarettes before we’re finished.” An announcement for dinner was called. “You better eat up, ‘cause you’re gonna need your energy.”

“Well, I'm starving.” England nodded. “Famished.”

“I’ll bet, I should have gotten you another hot dog,” America teased, tugging England’s chair out for him before dropping into his own.

“I tried earlier but you were in a rush,” England countered casually.

“If you were hungry you should have said something.”

“I did.” England sighed waving the soda water away as the waiter tried to fill his glass. “An old fashion if you would?” The man looked troubled for a moment and England tried to think of anything else.

“A rootbeer or something like that,” America ordered instead. England waited for the waiter to leave before he looked back at America, placing the cigarette between his lips. He gestured to the pack of matches he had put in America’s palm. “In the pocket of my coat I’ve got some whiskey,” he whispered.

“Rebel.”

He lit the match and held it out. “If you think I’m the only one you haven’t been paying attention.”

Leaning forward, England grunted his thanks leaned back with a sigh before casually saying “I've been too busy watching someone to have been looking elsewhere.” At that he looked away sharply in embarrassment.

America watched him, cheeks warming. He suddenly wished they were alone. He wanted to prod that softness that England had shown, the affection that had turned his cheeks red. “I don’t mind that.”

“Oh, quiet git,” England muttered.. The evening pressed on, the meal coming and going. Awards were passed out, as well as the small flask between their hands as they surreptitiously slipped shots into drinks. They were pleasantly warm as they walked back outside.

“Let’s walk for a few,” America said.

“Really?” England stared at him.

“In a hurry?”

“I'm exhausted... I got off a ship at six this morning... but if you want to walk let's walk.”

“If you get too sleepy I’ll carry you back. I just need to stretch my legs.”

“Absolutely not,” England scoffed.

America chuckled. “Just around the block, then we’ll be able to drive back.”

“Fine, fine.” England sighed. “Lead on.”

As they walked away from the bright lights of the hotel, the darkness deepened in the balmy streets surrounding it. Turning the corner, America led them up a path, the darkness providing enough cover for him to reach out for England’s hand. “Good party, huh? I knew you would have fun.”

“It was an enjoyable evening,” England agreed. “I can't believe it's still this warm.”

“It doesn’t really get that cold here, a cold snap now and then. You can get practically anything to grow around here. We could go out to the desert and you can see how fast my Speedster can go on the salt flats.”

“That's very tempting... but later.” England shook his head.

“Of course, because right now...” He turned pushing England against a hedge, and kissing him.

“Alfred!” England grabbed his shoulders. “We are outside!”

“Couldn’t help myself. I feel like I could drive us home now.” He squeezed England’s hand and turned back down the darkened walk surrounded by foliage. “We’ll have to go see a talkie downtown. They’re really getting better.”

“That would be a good night.”

“Let’s do it tomorrow. You saw the actors up close tonight anyway.” They came back into view of the hotel and America waved over a valet to fetch the car. In only a few minutes they were on their way back towards the mansion tucked in the hills.

Leaning his head back against the seat, England's eyes slid shut as the wind slid through his hair. It was comfortable and the exhaustion mixed with hours in the sun and then the liquor began to make itself known. _Just a quick nap_ ….

***

America looked over at England when they pulled up to his house and shut down the engine. England was fast asleep, his face smooth and looking so much younger than he did when he was scowling or ordering people about. America watched him, the way the air slipped out of his lips as he breathed out. The small smile that appeared when he dreamed of something good. He wanted to keep him in those good thoughts. Despite all the uncertainty in the world and his own feeling of standing on the edge of something, he could cherish this moment.

Slipping out of the seat, America came around and lifted England out of the car, the man not waking, only shifting his head to his chest, an arm coming loosely around America’s neck. He took him inside, cradling him against his chest as he went up the stairs and went into his bedroom. England stirred now, a soft groan at being woken slipping out of his mouth. “You’ll be back asleep soon, darling, we’re just back.” He settled England on the edge of the bed, helping him out of his suit coat.

The palms of England's hands dug into his eyes ,rubbing at them as he yawned. “I didn't mean to fall asleep,” he muttered, loosening his tie. Eyes full of sleep peered back up at America.

“I had you, no big deal.” He brushed his fingers on England’s cheek. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. England’s hair smelled like the smoke from the banquet hall and the flowers blooming outside, underneath it all the smell of the ocean that was always around him.

England hummed quietly before yawning. “Alfred, I'm gonna have to turn in I don't fancy falling asleep in the middle.”

“I feel like that should wound my pride,” America chuckled. He kissed the top of England’s head and stepped away to pull off his own clothes. “Get in the blankets, I’m going to hold you regardless of what we do.”

“So cocky,” England muttered and slid out of his trousers, even in a half awake state doing it with a proper air. Dropping back against the pillow, England pulled up the sheets, proceeding to cocoon himself inside.

America returned in a moment, climbing in beside him and reaching inside the folds of England’s blanket, tugged him up against his body.

“Gonna overheat,” England mumbled in warning.

“Then nix the blanket. I’ll keep you warm.” He began pulling it away from England and pushing it down the bed.

“Don't you dare," England muttered, barely conscious.

“Then don’t complain,” America muttered, adjusting the sheet so that it was over them. “If you want to curl up in something...” He kissed the back of England’s neck. There was no response offered to the young blond, the slighter one already unconscious to the world.

America got more comfortable, adjusting England’s body so that they could curl together. He’d grown so used to it that sometimes he’d wake up and wish he could reach across the bed to pull England back into his arms. Listening to England’s breaths in the quiet, his thoughts began to quiet and he was pulled down into sleep after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you've enjoying the story, please leave a comment or a kudo!
> 
> So sorry for the gap between chapters this month. Shuriken7 got pretty busy and we both got sick! We hope to wrap up this book before summer so we can dive right into World War II. This chapter was pretty fluffy but there is drama on the horizon! Stay tuned!


	15. All Good Things Must End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stock Markets go down across the world and measures are taken to prevent another Great War... who knew it would become so difficult?

_September 20, 1929_

_London, England_

“What's wrong!? What's gone wrong?” England croaked as he stumbled into Parliament’s hall. He had been awoken by a coughing fit, his throat was sore. He wiped sweat from his brow. Something was wrong. He hadn't even bothered putting on slippers or a robe. “George,” he wheezed. The King and and the leaders of Parliament were in their robes.

“Arthur, you've taken fever.” George straightened from the papers to stare at him for a moment. “The London stock exchange crashed.” Parliament’s eyes fixated on England who stared at his king. A messenger burst into the room.

“Lord Kirkland, there is a call from the personification of the United States!”

“Alfred?” England coughed and Ramsay MacDonald, head of the labor party, swore.

“The Americans are going to be in an uproar! They are going to pull from the stock exchange!”

“Channel Master Jones's call to my personal chambers,” England croaked as his head throbbed. Hopefully, this wicked cold would not last long.

***

_October 24, 1929_

_London, England_

America rolled over. He’d been perfectly warm the night before when he’d snuggled into bed. England had been involved in some sort of discussion and told him to go on ahead. He tried reaching for him, but he wasn’t there. No sign he was anywhere in his room. Shivering under the blankets, America sneezed. What was going on? He glanced at the clock in the dim light. It was early still. Maybe England was in his own bed next door. Wrapping the blanket around himself, America walked to the door that separated their rooms. He pushed through. “Arthur?” he said to the darkness, his voice sounding scratchy.

England leaned over his desk, his telephone pressed to his ear, white as a sheet. He turned to stare at America. “You sound like shit,” he croaked.

“I feel like it too.” America walked over to him, the electric lamp showing his flushed cheeks. He leaned against England over the back of the chair. “I’m cold. I need to use the phone... find out what’s going on.”

“It's Mr. Richard Whitney on the phone.” England pointed to a chair for America to sit while he listened to the Vice President of the New York Stock Exchange. He paused until America had sat “Your stock market has crashed, Alfred.” He hung up the phone.

America blinked at him. “That’s not possible. Everything was fine when I left. Maybe some of the banks were floating a lot of credit...” He coughed.

“Oh, it’s crashed all right because it's affecting the London stock exchange… I thought the last drop was bad...”

“So you’re saying you’ve caught this from me?” America coughed again. “The talk.” He laughed and got cut off by another cough.

“Do you remember when I got sick last month?” England scowled and rubbed at his temple. “My blasted head...”

“Yeah, I called you to make sure you were...” He sneezed. “Fine... I’m sure it’s not gonna last long. We need to work on that navy treaty thing with Japan.” He groaned and pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders.

“Go to bed,” England ordered.

“You go to bed,” America groused. England stared at him. He could see the surprise in his face at the tone. He felt horrible.

“Alfred...”

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “They’ll probably figure it out in a day or two. What are you even working on? You said as soon as you finished that thing with those Parliament guys you were going to come get in bed with me.” He sneezed again.

“Alfred...” England sighed and came to kneel in front of the other. “You need to go to bed.”

“I told you, it’s nothing.” He practically disappeared into the folds of the blanket as he pulled it over his head. England heaved a sigh, he was going to have to resort to that. Reaching up to pull the blankets back so he could see the other’s face, he sighed.

“Bed, love.”

“I told you...” He leaned forward, forehead landing on England’s shoulder. “Your skin feels cool.”

“Bed, Alfred,” he said firmly. “Or you can sleep alone cause I am tired of waiting.”

“Then you’re coming?”

“Eventually. The longer you sit here the longer my work waits!”

“Come with me, Arthur... you can finish in the morning.” A pathetic whine had entered his voice as he wrapped his arms around England’s shoulders.

“It's only going to take a few minutes, love.”

A sniff. “I’ll just wait here.” He leaned back heavily in the chair.

“No. Go keep the sheets warm.”

“Tuck me in?”

“I know your game.” England frowned. “I need to get this done.”

“I’m only doing what you say because I feel like this. Don’t get used to it. When I’m better in a few days...” He coughed again, pulling away from England.

“Well, if you weren't sick I would still send you away but with more explicit instructions. I guarantee you would still listen.” He pointed towards the bedroom. “Now hurry. It won't be long before I am down for the count. Something of this magnitude will no doubt affect me soon as well.”

“It’s gonna be fine. It shouldn’t last long, I bounce back.” He got up, blanket still wrapped around him and shuffling off into England’s bedroom. England heaved a sigh of relief as he moved towards his desk. His head was pounding and his throat was scratchy. By morning the pair of them would no doubt feel awful.

***

America groaned, rolling over onto England. He buried his face in the blankets and tried to get comfortable. He felt hot and cold at once. “Alfred, you are crushing me get off!” England grunted as the other woke him.

“I’m dying, I need to call my boss.” He shifted, not making it terribly far. He gave up halfway, one arm dangling on the edge of the bed.

“I called President Hoover last night before I turned in. He knows what's going on and that you will be sleeping the next several days,” England mumbled.

America made a sound in response. “This doesn’t happen to me...” he grumbled.

“Welcome to being a nation.” England coughed.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve always been a nation.” America crawled back to his side.

“Economies crash, love, it won’t be the last time.”

Scooting closer, America threw an arm over England’s middle, resting his head on England’s shoulder. “I don’t remember the 1890 one feeling like this.”

“Well, this is a real one... don't touch, I'm hot.”

“I’m freezing.” America grimaced. 

England groaned. “Call for more blankets.”

“The pull is on your side.” He coughed, burying his face against England’s nightshirt.

“I can’t get up you wont move!”

“Fine.” America moved off him, wrapping his arms around a pillow. It took mere seconds before England's snoring filled the room to Americas dismay. “Jackass...” America grumbled, climbing over him to get to the bell pull that would signal the servants. Soon, he was piled deep in the blankets, trying to fall asleep. Moments before sleep took him in its sweet embrace England wriggled his way beneath the pile, tucking into his space. He tried to wrap an arm around him. “I thought you were too hot.”

“...it's worth it.”

“We won’t be sick long. I’m sure of it.” America settled England on his shoulder.

“Aren't you optimistic?” England mumbled, his words slurring as sleep pulled him back under. America let his body follow.

***

_October 29, 1929_

_London, England_

It wasn’t getting better. America groggily stared at the date on the newspaper. He’d had to ask the servant if this was some kind of joke. Had he really been sleeping on and off for five days? He felt groggy, the sickness clinging to him. He folded open the pages and frowned at the column after column that announced that not only had the stock market crashed, there had been a run on the banks. There wasn’t enough money to cover it. It wasn’t going to be over quickly.

He glanced over at England who was still asleep beside him. His cheeks were pink, the fever coming back. America rubbed at his own, feeling the heat in them. He lay back down on the pillows, newspaper spread out over the top of the comforter. They couldn’t stay here in this room indefinitely.

“You are going to have to leave,” England murmured as he woke.

“I know.” America leaned over to pull England into his arms and push his nose against the back of his neck. “I need to go home and see what I can do. I think this is the longest I’ve just slept in your bed since... ever.”

England leaned back into the embrace with a murmur of content. “I didn't mean go home, git. You can't travel like this... I meant leave my bed so that we can bathe. We haven't washed in days and the sheets need changing.”

“I’ll have to go home sometime.” It felt like entirely too much effort to move. “We do smell bad...” he murmured.

“Exactly. And we need to eat.”

“I’ll go start the bath.” America shifted, disentangling himself from the pile of blankets.

“Ask one of the servants.”

“I’m already up.” America sniffed, reaching for a handkerchief and trying to find a clean corner.

“Pull the cord and ask the servants.”

Stretching, America got up, rubbing a hand over his head. He found the lamp and clicked it on, the room becoming awash in yellow light. America reached for his glasses and put them on. “I need to stretch my legs.” He shuffled off, bracing himself in the door for a moment, before disappearing around the corner.

“Alfred...” England sighed and rolled over to yank the cord. “I wanted it blasted time with a cup tea.” He sat up and shoved the blankets off as his manservant, Andrew, poked his head in. “Bath and tea. And stop master Jones and send him back in here.”

“Yes, sir.” The man disappeared. He returned a moment later. “He says he’s not getting off the floor, Lord Kirkland.”

“For God’s sake! Grab another man and carry him out then!”

“Of course, at once.” The man hurried out and soon America came back in, grumbling about the servants that hovered at his elbow should he lose his balance. He flopped onto the bed, waving off any help.

“You sure are bossy.”

“I like getting my way.” England coughed.

“The tile was cool,” America grumbled, putting a hand over his mouth as he coughed too.

“You'll enjoy the hot bath and then you can come back. I promise.” England rolled over to face him.

America closed his eyes and rolled towards him. He put his hand on England’s cheek.

“You…” England shook his head and leaned in pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

A small smile pulled at America’s lips, he moved closer and wrapped England up in his arms. “Keep me warm until it’s ready,” he muttered, forehead pressed against England’s. “I’m tired.”

England smiled and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. He needed to get America into the bath, fed something warm, and back into the bed. The maids would change the sheets while they bathed. And with America comfortable and sleeping he could get to work.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” America asked.

“I'm always like this.” England frowned.

Confusion pulled on America’s brow. “You usually scold me at times like this.”

“When you’re sick?” England pulled back “I do not!”

America leaned back into him. “When I screw up.” He pressed his face into the crook of England’s neck. “I made you sick, too.” His forehead was clammy.

“You sound like you want me to scold you.”

“Don’t you want to scold me?”

“That... what... no!” England snapped, sitting up sharply. Now the room was spinning.

“Careful, Arthur,” America said, putting a hand against England’s back to steady him. “I was just feeling sorry for myself. I don’t like being sick.”

“No one does,” England said dryly as Andrew popped his head in.

“Bath is ready, gentlemen” With a groan, America pushed himself up and offered England an arm up so they could make their way into the bathroom, shedding their sweaty bedclothes in their wake.

“Yes, I got a bigger bath installed.” England cut America off before he said anything. The porcelain tub had been replaced with one nearly twice its size. The washroom had been expanded to accept the custom order. England didn't often spend much on frivolity so it had been no problem in getting the money and approval. It was technically all his anyways.

“I think all of me will fit now.” America climbed in, settling against the side with a sigh. He pressed his temple to the edge of the tub. “Feels nice.”

“I would hope so it's made to fit four people.” England rolled his eyes and dragged his fingers along the top of the perfumed water. America didn’t respond, his body relaxing against the edge. Stepping back England moved to the door as there was a knock. A packet of papers was presented to England and he flipped through them with a curse. This really wasn't getting any better.

“Clean sheets and hot food brought to my chambers,” he ordered and handed the stack back to Andrew. “And have all of this brought to my study.”

“Aren’t you getting in?” America didn’t move, his body slumped against the edge. “If you leave me I might drown.”

“Yes, yes.” England turned around and walked over, climbing into the tub next to America. Shifting from his spot, America leaned against England’s side instead. “You are always like this when sick.” England shook his head in sympathy.

“I don’t remember...” America muttered, eyes closed.

“I'm going to have to wash your hair for you, huh?”

“That would feel nice.”

“I guess that I must be a good host.” England heaved a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes as America had the audacity to crack an eye open at him. He shooed the other’s attitude away as he reached over the lip of the tub to grab the bar of soap. Dunking the bar into the water England took his time working up a lather and began to work his fingers through America's greasy hair. Neither of them had bathed since they had taken ill and it showed. “Once you are well enough to travel I will have no choice but to put you on the next ship home so that you can be with your people during this time. We will both need to focus. I got word this morning that while we have been sick, several other nations have taken ill as their own markets have been hit. We need to get this figured out, and it all started with the crash of the American Stock Exchange so at least we know where the root of the problem is.” England’s thoughts were verbalized and he waited for the others comment as the steam from the bath gathered around them in plumes. “Alfred?” His answer was a snore and England sat back in disbelief. America had fallen asleep while England was washing his hair! England watched the other one for a moment before going back to scrubbing the wheat colored locks. He didn’t have it in his heart to wake the other. He could lecture him later when they both weren’t feeling so awful.

***

_April 22, 1930_

_London, England_

“Of course I am annoyed, Frog,” England muttered. He and France made their way down the highly decorated halls of Buckingham palace towards the meeting room. “These type of discussions have been going on for three years, ever since the Geneva Naval Conference back in ‘27. And of course we couldn’t come to a bloody decision because the negotiations had a bad feeling that the my government and Alfred’s were tense. Of bloody course they were! And they are going to be today! There are restrictions regarding how many boats that my navy can build! My Navy! The British Navy! The best bloody navy in the entire blasted world!” England snapped, scowling as the Frenchman just shook his head.

“Oh, _min Rosbif, ce n'est pas que pour toi._ ” France sighed dramatically, dragging his hands through his hair as if he were some Hollywood actress from the moving pictures.

“Of course it's not only about me!” England hissed “I am fully aware! But that does not make it any better. Now this involves you, Alfred, and Kiku! What makes them think that we will be able to come to any decisions today when we couldn’t three years ago!” England huffed as they made their way up to the heavy doors, two young men hurriedly pushing it open. Judging from the sounds inside America was already present, having left England’s rooms earlier that morning, and Kiku was always early.

America smiled at them when they arrived. He’d been sitting by Japan, a piece of paper stretched between them. From England’s position he could see that it was covered in drawings, America’s bubbly, messy script alongside Japan’s more technical design. “Hey, where’s Feliciano?” America asked as the other took their seats. “Probably forgot to set his alarm clock, huh?”

“He arrived in my chambers just shortly after you left them. I sent Andrew to make sure that he was coming.” England arched a brow as France chuckled. Ignoring the French nation, England turned to Japan and offered a small bow and greeting to the nation who did the same. Kiku had him had always gotten along splendidly, although in a one-on-one situation. The reserved nation didn’t seem to have a taste for groups in the least. Anytime they had spent time together outside of meetings it had either just been the two of them or with Heracles in presence.

“Great, we can catch him up when he gets here.” He reached for the stack of papers set in front of him. “So, what we weren’t able to agree on last time was how big the ships could be. I think we should go with this.” The papers were passed around.

“And is this something that you came up with on your own?” France sat down in the chair between the pair and flipped through the papers as England did the same, a scowl already in place on the Englishman's face.

“Well, based on what we said at the last one and our initial agreement, which you guys signed by the way in case you forgot, we need to reduce some more.” America shrugged. “It’s not that big a deal, gives us time to build other stuff.”

“Such as?” England peered over the paperwork, a look of dissatisfaction plain on his face. The door popped open and Italy all but bounced into the room.

“ _Ciao_!” he shouted, dropping into the chair next to Japan who leaned away from him as if Italy’s absurdities were contagious. “I couldn’t find the kitchen! I was hoping to see if your chef was making pasta, Arthur!” The brunette smiled widely in response to England’s sigh.

“Yes, I spoke to him before you got here.”

“You should at least be on time for the meeting Feliciano,” France cut in and Italy waved wildly, a cry of‘ _Ciao, big brother Francis!’_ causing Japan to lean even further away.

“Arthur, we could make things like refrigerators! New cars! We don’t need really need new battleships,” America cut in, answering England’s question before Italy appeared. “Kiku, you’re on board with me right?” Japan gave America an impassive stare, before returning to the papers. “C’mon Arthur, you’ll still be able to patrol your holdings.”

“You honestly think that I would be okay with restrictions on _the_ British navy.” England crossed his arms.

“We’re all restricting our navies, Arthur,” France cut in. “And you don’t get to complain, under these terms I only get to keep my new submarine because it’s already built!”

“Even if you could build more you would just run away surrender monkey,” England deadpanned.

“I’ve got an extra flag for you, Big Brother,” Italy said, offering one across the table. “Let’s not go to war anymore, okay?”

England snorted as France stared at the happy go lucky nation. Sometimes it was hard to believe that he was one of the older nations in the room.

“See, Feliciano has the right idea.” America was quick to clarify as the rest looked at him. “Not the surrender part, but the no more war part. This plan will help stop that.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” France and England said in unison, glancing at each other.

“Holy Rome?”

“Holy Rome.”

“What about Holy Rome?” Italy chimed in, his voice serious for once. The pair shot him an apologetic look.

“Nothing Feliciano just memories,” England supplied.

“While you old guys are reminiscing, Kiku and I are thinking about the future. Aren’t we, Kiku?” America turned to look at Japan who was making a few notations on the paperwork.

“I agree with Alfred-san, but...”

“See, told you,” America interrupted, looking at the Europeans. Japan flexed his fingers on his pen.

“And relevant, but you wouldn’t know that because you have no respect for the past, git.” England frowned.

“I have total respect for the past. It’s useful for costume parties and debates.”

“Excuse me,” Japan said, cutting off the response England was ready to throw. “As I was attempting to say, we should not look at this treaty as a way to prevent war for each other which I believe Arthur-san and Francis-san were trying to say. It will merely make it more difficult and therefore we will have to consider more carefully. At the current ratio it would not be impossible to go to war with America.”

“What? You’re calculating whether you can go to war with me?” America said, staring at him.

“It is a hypothetical, Alfred-san. An example.”

“But yes it's been considered,” the blonde pair across the table said in unison once again.

“Wait, you guys sit around and talk about going to war with me?”

“ _Non._ ”

“Absolutely not.”

“They drink while they do it,” Italy chimed.

America stared at them, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. “Well, Arthur’s been there done that. And lost. Twice.”

England's mouth tightened. That was crossing a line. That was crossing so many lines.

“Oh _mon Dieu,_ we were teasing, Alfred,” France sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You guys can daydream all you want, you couldn’t beat me if you tried.” He put a hand on the paper. “Even with the reduced tonnage of warships.”

“We need to just get on with the meeting,” England said sharply, an icy chill settling over the table.

***

The hours passed, several other detours occurring including a break for lunch. America wanted to talk to England alone. He was really the only other one that needed to get onboard. Between the two of them, they had enough negotiating power to make the rest agree. When the break before the dinner was called, America followed him out into the hallway.

“Arthur, I need to talk to you.”

“And I have no desire to speak with you.” England continued walking down the hallway without a falter in his step. He was pissed and he wanted nothing to do with the other at the current moment.

“We can’t sink this treaty again, my boss will be all over me.” He caught up to England and grabbed him by the sleeve.

“Unhand me!” England hissed, yanking away from him. “I said I don’t want to talk right now.”

“Why are you mad at me? You know I have to stick to the talking points.”

“Your unnecessary sadistic jabs were not needed,” England hissed, stalking towards his chambers. He had half a mind to tell the staff to ready Alfred’s visiting chambers.

America followed after him. “You know I didn’t mean it personally. I have to look strong in front of everybody. You started it with reminding everyone that I don’t have a whole lot of history.”

“I didn't start anything!” England spat stepping into his rooms and turning on his heel to stop America from entering. He stared up at the other. “I commented that you did not respect the history that we spoke of because you were not involved.”

Blocking the door with his shoulder. “You were trying to put me in my place and we both know it.”

“No, I was trying to end things and make it obvious that it was not something that was going to be discussed because it was painful for Feliciano.” He stared at the door. “I don't think you should keep my chambers while this conference is in session.”

“I didn’t throw you out during the Washington Naval Treaty discussions and that was a much bigger argument.” America frowned at him. “It’s for show.”

“I'm not throwing you out, you can come back after the treaty is signed and sealed.” England's expression hardened. “You went too far, Alfred.”

“I don’t want to go. I...” America looked away. “Do you really think about going to war with me again? Be honest.”

“No!” he snapped. “We said we were joking! You however weren't!”

“How was I supposed to know that!? Do you think Kiku was joking? He doesn’t joke. And Matt let slip his plan that stupid plan that involved invading through Vermont... never would have worked by the way.”

England cut him off, “You brought _IT_ up. In front of allies no less!”

“And hopefully they’ll think twice about any plans they might have! You’re powerful, so I’m powerful.” America backed out of the door, slapping his hand on the door frame. “I need a break before dinner anyway. I’ll be in the guest room if you decide to look for me. We can talk about the treaty later.”

England stared after him for a moment before shaking his head and went to find France before supper.

***

Dinner was served promptly, America settling into his seat and peering at the menu. Not that there were many options. He leaned over to England who was slightly turned away. “You let Francis meal plan didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Short and curt. England didn't look at him.

“I can’t even pronounce some of this stuff.” America hoped that would earn a smile.

“Perhaps you should spend time with Matthew, then.”

“I spend more time with Matt than you do. He’s attached to me.” He reached for England’s hand under the table, but he pulled it away quickly.

England grasped the menu with both hands firmly, casting a glance at Feliciano who was chatting loudly to Japan about his trip here. He looked back to the menu as wine was poured. He was clearly still angry from the afternoon.

Frowning, America tried to hold a conversation with France over the top of England’s head. However, England must have said something to him, because France was also keeping him at arm’s length.The French nation shot him a glance and a shake of his head in disappointment.

America leaned towards England again. “Arthur... I didn’t say it to hurt you,” he whispered.

“You meant it to be a jab and trust me you succeeded,” England bit.

“Arthur...”

One of the men at the table stood, England’s Prime Minister. He began a symbolic toast and America wasn’t able to say anything. By the time dinner was over, England departed so quickly, that America wasn’t able to catch him after some words to his ambassador.

***

“Fucking git,” England muttered as he stripped his clothes, heading for his bath. He didn't want to see anyone, he would fill the bath himself. Leaning over the taps he yanked them on, he would need to be out by the time Andrew brought his nightcap. Grabbing some of the glass bottles he poured them into the water, watching the water change colors and bubble. He was so pissed at America he could barely see straight.

When he came out of the bath, he walked into the bedroom. “There was a request I bring these to you as well, Lord Kirkland.” Andrew gestured to his bed where a single red rose had been laid on a folded note.

England's nose wrinkled. “You can return that to Master Bonnefoy.”

“It’s from Master Jones.”

England paused in the drying of his hair to look at the letter. Walking over to the bed he dropped the towel and picked up the rose, rolling it between his fingers and picked up the note, flipping it open.

_Have you read Mr. Hemingway’s book that I sent you? This line always makes me think of you. “Why, darling, I don’t live at all when I’m not with you.”_

England snorted and shut the note, there was more, but he wasn’t really interested. “I don't need anything else, Andrew. Have a good night.” He dismissed the man and sat on his bed, peering at the note as he laid back, bringing up the rose he inhaled. He was trying not to succumb to the sweet note and rose. It was a thoughtful gesture that came few and far between. But he was still upset. That had been a really low blow.

He had drifted off, the flower still in his fingers when he heard the soft knock on the secret door. “Arthur? Are you asleep?” came America’s voice through the door.

England stared up at ceiling debating on whether or not to answer. He wasn't even completely on the bed, he had fallen asleep with his knees hanging over the end. Should he respond? He didn't know if he wanted the other in his room yet. He opted to remain quiet, pretending that sleep still had him in its grip.

He could hear America’s footsteps on the rug, pausing near where England lay. A soft huff escaped him, a sound he made when he smiled. He came closer, arms slipping beneath England’s body so he could lay him on the bed properly. The blankets were adjusted around him. The mattress sank a little. America had sat down on the edge. “I was just trying to keep myself safe today, even though I know you don’t see it that way.” His fingers brushed over England’s cheek. “I didn’t mean to do it at your expense. It wasn’t on purpose. Sleep well, Arthur.” His lips were warm against England’s forehead for a moment and then he began to pull away.

“You can't be here,” England said, breaking the facade.

“I was gonna go back to my room. I just wanted to see if you were able to sleep.” He stood up. “Good night.”

“I wish you could stay.”

“Me too.”

“But I'm having trouble with a man who deliberately went after something he knew was hurtful and has no desire to make proper amends.” England stared at the ceiling.

“I apologized.”

“No, you didn’t,” England argued. “You sent me a flower and said that you didn't mean to do it.”

America was quiet for a long while, he sat back down on the bed. “That’s all I know how to say about it. I honestly didn’t mean to hurt you today.” He paused. “I... every time I feel like you really want me to apologize for any of it happening at all... and I can’t.”

“And I can't have someone in my bed who can't even apologize for attacking me verbally today.”

“And I can’t stay if you put me in positions where I have to defend my authority.”

“Apologizing for having at me today is not defending authority!” England shouted, sitting up. “I don't ever expect you to apologize for what you did to me in 1776! But you could fucking have some remorse for stabbing me in front of everyone and attacking me for no fucking reason! You know that's a sensitive topic and yet you went after me anyways!”

America stared back at him, hurt crossing his face. “And I told you I didn’t mean to! It just came up because I don’t think Kiku is talking hypotheticals. We might be allies now, but... I don’t want him to think I’m easy to invade! And you are the only one at that table that really knows. Francis, kind of but...”

“That had nothing to do with it! Would it kill you to just fucking say sorry!?”

America tried to reach for England’s hand. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“But not sorry for saying it!” England pulled away.

“No, because it was a test. I can’t tell you how I know, but... I think Kiku is thinking about doing some expansion in the Pacific. He... I think he wants to be the most powerful nation over there, I’ve heard things. I need him to understand that it wasn’t just you being soft on me that protected me before. Or that you’re somehow weak and can’t defend your holdings.”

“So you deliberately hurt me for your own gains.” England started at him

“No, I...” America pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. A cough caught him off guard and he doubled over for a moment. “It wasn’t about you.”

“You still used me, Alfred. You could have made some kind of comparison rather than bringing THAT up.”

The coughing fit returned. “I won’t do it again.” He wrapped his arms around his middle, trying to get his breathing under control. He sneezed. “Crap…”

“You need to go to bed,” England said flatly.

“I won’t be able to sleep when we’re like this.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and coughed into it.

“Well, it's going to be like this if you can't...” England shook his head.

“You still don’t trust me not to...” His voice was choked. He reached over to England’s bedside and took the glass of water sitting there.

England looked away, his anger wouldn't stay if he watched right now. “Trust you not to what?”

“Wreck your world again.” He took another sip of the water, choking on it slightly as another cough shook him.

“How can I when you want to use the past as a weapon against me?” He paused staring at the rose. “It's similar to me if I decided to use John against you... how would that feel?”

“Horrible, but I’d still forgive you. I’d forgive you a lot of things. I have forgiven you a lot of things.”

“But it would take you time. It takes time.”

America was quiet. “I’ll go if that’s what you want.”

“I do, but I don't.”

“So where does that leave me?”

“I don't know.” England shook his head, running his hands through his hair and looked to him.

“Well, I could stay here, but not touch you. That way we can sleep.”

“I don't know...” England huffed before staring at his feet. “Kiss me.”

America took another sip from the glass, setting it back down with a clink. He scooted closer to England, taking his chin in his fingertips. “Are you sure?”

“Damn it, Alfred!” England scowled. America’s hand slipped from his chin, grabbing the front of England’s nightshirt and pulling him against him. He kissed him, not letting England pull back. England tangled his fingers in America's hair with a groan of frustration. Wrapping his legs around Americas waist. Climbing up on the bed over him, America pressed England into the blankets. He put a hand on England’s waist, fingers wrapping into the fabric. England muttered America’s name, fingers tightening. He was still hurt from the jab, but he hated the idea of forbidding the man from his bed. Sliding his hand beneath England’s nightshirt, America brushed his fingers up his spine. He pressed a soft kiss to the side of England’s head, pressing his nose into his hair. England wanted him so much it hurt, but it hurt just as much letting him in.

“Was your coughing attack for pity?” England frowned. The heat of the moment was cooling. It had been impulsive and he was kicking himself for wanting it.

“No, it comes and goes.” The handkerchief that had lain forgotten on the bed got grabbed quickly as another cough threatened to bubble up again.

“You need to sleep.”

“I thought that’s what we were trying to figure out. Where will I be sleeping?”

England hesitated, letting his hands fall to the bed. He couldn’t trust them right now. “You need to go back to your room”

He was quiet. “All right. Good night, Arthur.” He kissed him on the cheek, before climbing off him.

“Good night, Alfred.” He pulled the blankets over himself and rolled onto his side,back to the secret door.

***

The next day, America reached bleary eyed for the coffee pot. He held it over his cup. “Who drank all the coffee?” he announced to the room.

“It’s okay, I ordered more,” Italy replied, draining what must have been the last of it from his own cup. “Why did we have to get up so early?”

“It’s nearly mid-morning, Feliciano,” France added.

“Francis, why didn’t you save me any?” America groused.

“Because I caught your cold.” France sniffed, shuffling the newspaper. Japan sat at the other end of the table, going over a stack of paperwork.

“Good morning,” England greeted as he entered the breakfast room.

“Morning,” America said, amongst the other round of greetings. “We can’t start until there’s more coffee.”

“ _Sí!_ ” Italy added, examining the sausage on his plate as though it would bite.

England looked to the fresh pot of tea that sat in front of his spot next to America. He stared at it for a moment, weighing the outcomes if he should move. America shifted the chair out for England, glancing at him. Staring at America, England sighed silently and sat down, glaring at France who arched a brow at him. He was not ready for this this morning. He poured himself a cup of tea. Today was going to be a long one.

After coffee arrived and everyone had eaten, the meeting was set to begin anew. Arguments and negotiations flew around the table. Anecdotes and inside jokes derailed for far too long in England’s opinion, but it appeared that they were ready to send it to their human delegates.

“We should have a drink in celebration. And to the invention of the telephone and the trans-Atlantic wire which allowed this endeavor to take a much briefer amount of time. Even if it does give Arthur the opportunity to snoop into all of our conversations!” France announced, elbowing England in the ribs as he swept out of his seat.

“Shut up,” England growled and leaned back in his seat. “I need a drink”

“Well, I’m sure we can find just the thing!” France said, bringing a slew of bottles from the sideboard in the room.

“Why are you touching my liquor supplies!?”

“Then why do you not get up and be a good host?” France asked. “Alfred, where are you going?” England turned and realized America was no longer beside him.

“I’m, uh, really tired.” America smothered a cough in his handkerchief. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Have a good night, Alfred,” England called after him.

America paused, fingers tight on the door knob. “Good night, Arthur.”

It was two glasses in when France leaned into England’s space. “This isn’t going to be a repeat of the ‘Great Drought’ is it?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” England sniffed, shoving him away.

“It was what I took to calling your lack of relations with dear _Amerique_ during the war and the resulting mood.”

“There is nothing going on between us. This is none of your business,” England drawled, rolling his eyes.

“Ah, _oui,_ nothing.” France shook his head.

“Big Brother Lovino told me all about it!” Feliciano said. “Although, some of it must have been exaggerated. Some of it is probably not possible.” He rubbed at his chin.

“Oh, what did he say?” France asked, curiosity burning in his expression.

“Lovino has no idea what he is talking about!”

“He seemed pretty certain...” Italy reached for the wine bottle again. “Is that why Arthur was so scary during the war?”

“I'm scary because I'm the bloody British Empire!”

Making a frightened sound, Italy ducked under the table. “Oh, Arthur, there’s no need to throw weight around. Alfred is an idiot, always has been. Cute, occasionally, hard-headed all the time,” France said. As England scowled at him. France turned to Italy. “Speaking of lovers, Feliciano...”

“Oh, there has not been anyone in a long time!” Feliciano lay his head on the table dramatically.

England sighed and leaned back in relief that the attention wasn't on him for the time being. Conversation continued for over an hour as they tried to get their Asian counterpart to open up. By the time they separated to turn in, concern had curled in England's belly and he found himself in his room and then making his way down the secret hall that would lead him into America’s chambers.

The lights were off and America was a lump on the bed. Papers were strewn across the sheets, he’d clearly been working on something before he fell asleep.

“Alfred?” he whispered, leaning in the door.

Movement on the bed, shifting. Coughing. “Arthur?”

“Oh... you’re still awake. Sorry, I'll let you sleep.”

A sleepy sound that England couldn’t tell was agreement or not. A long sigh and America appeared to drift off again. Heaving a sigh of his own, England stepped back into the hallway. The boy was sick and he needed to sleep.

“Arthur...”

“Go to sleep.”

“‘m trying...” America muttered. “Tuck me in.”

“You are already.”

“Stay with me then?”

“No, love, good night.” The words fell from his mouth quickly as he darted back into the passage. He didn't trust his own willpower with this.

“Wait... I forgot to give them to you. There’s this new pastry they invented back home, there’s some on my desk,” he said, voice muffled by the pillow. “You should take them with you.”

England's fingers curled into a first against the stone in the secret hall. “I'll grab them in the morn’.”

“You could also get them now. It’s not like I am going to tackle you and drag you into the bed with me. It sounds fine, but I feel like I got run over by a truck, carriage, and a few horses right now.”

“No... I'll grab them tomorrow.” Reaching back England yanked the door closed with a resounding click. That was harder than he thought, if it wasn't for the hurt that refused to unbarb from his chest he would have buckled. Moving quickly through the cool passage he made his way towards bed. This treaty needed to be finished quickly.

***

The next day, the human delegates were batched together in the negotiating room. America was feeling slightly better, although the news about the fire in Columbus the day before had added to his poor health. He yawned, running a hand through his hair as he walked down the hallway. He’d risen late, having to ask several servants to find out where the others had gone. He bundled up, preparing to go to the stables to see if he could catch them before they went riding.

“Do not even entertain the fantasy that you could win that race.” England laughed loudly as the Frenchman swore at him. Golau, his horse, sidestepped in mocking. It certainly was something to have a powerful beast between one's thighs. Exhilarating even. France and Italy swung onto borrowed horses with ease. Japan had opted to stay inside and explore England’s library ‘for a better understanding’.England ran his fingers through his hair, leaving the reins across his mare’s neck. Golau, the only offspring to come from the mating of his Lily and America’s stud from back in the days of the wild west shows London had been so fond of.

“Can I come with?” America said, leaning on the fence. He looked at England’s horse. “Wow, he’s big. He looks like your old one. I thought you said you didn’t breed that one.”

“SHE is several hands tall, yes. And Golau is an offspring,” England responded casually. It wasn't a lie. “And lad, I donna’-” he scowled. He had spent the early morning on the phone with Scotland. It always messed with his tongue. “I don't think it would be wise for you to come.”

“C’mon, I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not even that chilly outside and yet you are bundled in preparation for a blizzard.” His eyes followed Italy and France who left the paddock. “Go back and keep Kiku company, Alfred. He's in the palace library where it's warm and the maids can wait on you hand and foot.”

“I’m not an invalid. It’s gonna pass.” He pushed up off the fence and went into the stables.

“Alfred, go back inside! You couldn't even handle last night what makes you think you can handle riding?”

“I feel better this morning.” His voice turned stubborn.

“Well, use that to rest up. Don't push yourself and backpedal all your progress.”

He came back out, reached out a hand to stroke the nose of England’s horse. “You really don’t want me to come?”

“I want you to rest.”

America watched him for a moment. “I’ll be in the library then.”

“Have a good afternoon, I'll see you at supper.” He nodded to the other and with a click of his tongue redirected his mare she bolted, clearing the fence with ease and took off after the other two.

***

Japan was seated at one of the study tables in the library when they arrived back. He had stacks of books, a pencil in his hand as he took notes. He glanced at England as he walked over to him.

“Good afternoon Kiku. I am guessing the research partner I procured for you never actually arrived?” He took the seat next to the quiet nation.

“Alfred-san certainly has some interesting anecdotes about the contents of these.” He tapped on the books. “He went to go sit in the window with one of his own and has not been back.”

“Next to a window where it’s cold...” England heaved a sigh and got to his feet. “Excuse me, Kiku.” He nodded and stepped into one of the stacks. He began wandering the library peering at all of the windows, of course it was the one farthest away. England sighed as he finally found the American nation.

A blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, the book sitting in his lap. He had squeezed himself onto the window seat, forehead leaning against the window pane, glasses askew. His chest rose and fell in sleep.

“And you wanted to go riding.” England sighed and perched on the edge of the couch cushion. Reaching over he pulled off the younger’s glasses with a shake of his head. Folding them he placed them in his own lap and watched the boy sleep for a moment before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his mouth.

Leaning toward him unconsciously at first, America made a contented sound in his sleep. He woke up slowly, blinking at England. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Yes. Turn in and I'll have supper sent to your chambers.”

“Is it that late already? Is there any word from the delegates?” His fingers curled into England’s sleeve.

“Nothing yet. Go ahead and head up. I shall have Andrew bring you updates if anything happens.”

America nodded, not letting go and watching his face. “As soon as this is done, I’ll need to go home.”

“I am aware of that” England nodded.

“Okay... I’m glad you know.” America’s face fell slightly, holding his hand out for his glasses.

England's fingers closed around the frames that sat in his lap, watching America’s hand. He was conflicted and tried to sort his emotions out as quickly as possible. When England didn’t offer them to him, America reached for him, laying his hand on England’s own. “Arthur?”

“Why do you make things so difficult?” England breathed and closed the space in between them, kissing the man. Ignoring the noise of surprise from the other, the glasses slipped down onto the cushion. England pushed to his knees, the kiss deepening as he made his way into America’s lap, one knee to either side of America’s hips.

America adjusted his position, leaning back against the shelf behind him. He wrapped his arms around England’s waist. “That’s just me, I guess,” he said, when England broke the kiss. He pressed a kiss to the corner of England’s mouth.

“Stop talking,” England ordered, rocking in the younger man’s lap before pulling him into a bruising kiss. Talking only seemed to cause them problems. He didn't want to talk. America took the hint, arms tightening around England’s waist and kissing him back. He pressed his body close, one hand sliding up England’s back to tangle in his hair. Impatience filled every line of England's body as his hand plunged between them, palming the other to garner attention. He hadn't done it in the library before. This would be new.

“Alfred.” England's voice was low, heavy with lust and anticipation. No more words. Too many of them had been said over the last few days. They were mostly hidden in the far corner of the library, the stacks the only thing between them and discovery. America’s fingers found England’s belt, tugging slightly.

“Arthur,” he said, pressing his mouth against England’s, brushing his tongue against his lips. England opened up eagerly, hips rolling against the other, giddy with how responsive the other was. Pulling one hand from the younger blond’s shoulders, his fingers began to make work on the front of America’s trousers. This would take some gymnastics.

America adjusted his hold on England once he got his belt loosened. Fingers went to England’s neck, tugging at his tie, loosening it enough to undo the top few buttons. He pressed his mouth to England’s throat, gasping when England got a hand in his pants.

“You have to be quiet boy, Kiku is just down the way,” England warned, pushing to his feet in the cramped space he pulled the other into a kiss as he bent over. A pleased grin turned up his lips and America groaned in response to his flexibility. In no time England's trousers pooled around his ankles and he was settling back into Americas lap, watching the surprised look and dilated pupils.

“Fuck,” America whispered, burying a grunt against England’s throat as the other adjusted himself. One hand gripped the bare skin at England's waist. He grazed his teeth along England’s jaw. For a moment, he pulled away, their eyes meeting. A spark seemed to shoot through America and he kissed him again.

“It’s too cramped I can’t get enough leverage,” England whispered breathlessly as he tried to move. “Are you too weak to do it, Alfred?” The question was two sided. The cold was one concern, that the economic downturn had robbed America of the strength. The other was if he would do such a thing. England hoped the jab would spark the younger nation’s pride. He wanted to feel that strength, be at America’s mercy.

America wrapped an arm around England’s waist, pushing up. Bracing one hand against the wall, he pushed up against England, burying his face against his shoulder.

England swore, teeth sinking into America's shoulder to muffle his cries. He had no control, he couldn’t push closer for more or pull away as sensations became too intense. He was completely in America’s control. It was terrifying, but it was thrilling all at the same time. England's body twisted and arched back over America's thighs, fingers digging into his shoulders, small chants of ‘yes’ slipping out breathlessly. He hated and loved it at once. Everything dissolved into a blur of pleasure and sweat until it was suddenly over and England was left feeling boneless and for the moment, completely satiated.

America breathed against England’s shoulder, panting breaths that fanned out against the sweat on England’s neck. He pressed his lips to his pulse, not letting go of England’s waist. He settled them back down slowly, England still in his lap. He leaned against the frame of the window seat, a contented smile on his face. He drew his fingers down England’s jaw, kissing him softly. “I...” he whispered.

England hummed, welcoming the quiet intimacy while his body was recovering. “You?”

He kissed him again. “I was strong enough.”

“Obviously,” he breathed.

“You didn’t break either.” His voice was soft. “I want to kiss every inch of you,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss on England’s neck.

“That would be a challenge in this position.”

“And in our current location.” He tipped England backwards a bit so he could reach his collarbone.

“We aren't far from a servants path,” England offered, leaning back with relish, movement beneath him almost causing him to purr. “Young nation’s stamina.”

“Let’s go,” he said, kissing the hollow of England’s throat.

“Let’s. I'd rather not be caught with my trousers down.” Or for anyone to know that he had given in without winning an argument. That was between them.

America nodded, gesturing for England to lead the way, arms loosening so England could climb off. He hooked his fingers in the tail of England’s shirt as they walked.

“This is a bit familiar,” England drawled as he pushed in on a bookshelf and it opened into a small hallway and England dipped inside, motioning for America to follow.

“Oh?” America asked, pressing closer to England’s back in the darkness.

“Yes,” England chuckled,his memories catching up with him. “So little and wide eyed, clutching my shirt tail and plodding after me.”

Catching him around the waist, America kissed the back of his neck. “Not so innocent now.”

“Are you sure? I might need convincing” England hummed.

America turned England’s head, pulling him into another kiss, hand sliding between his legs. His fingers were teasing as he deepened the kiss.

***

England lounged in satisfaction across Alfred's bed, blankets tangled over his hips as he watched America answer the door and take the supper cart from the staff. There was no way they were going to make it with the other nations.

“What excuse did you send?” America asked, rolling the cart to the bed and sitting down on the edge.

“That your cold is affecting me as well tonight.” He reached our the silver cover on one of the plates grunting in satisfaction. “Lovely. I've been craving a good steak and kidney pie.” He grabbed the fork and lifted the plate off the tray.

America took his own. “I s’pose that’ll do it.” He carved off a large chunk of steak and stuffed it in his mouth.

“You used to eat it all the time don’t be a prat.” England lectured after swallowing.

“I know how to eat it,” America insisted. “I remember you tried to make it once. Nearly burned the house down.”

“I did not.” England frowned.

“I suppose you would have to parse out the memories, old man.” America shifted his seat so he could be closer to England. “As long as you remember this afternoon.” He smiled up at England, his face a little pale from the cold of the last several months that showed no sign of letting up. He took another big bite from his plate.

England gestured rudely at him before turning to his plate pointedly. He wasn't ready for banter. It was getting late and he was going to head to his own bed soon. He was certain that this was only going to cause another fight. Why couldn’t he be stronger where it came to America?

America finished off his plate quickly, settling down beside England and throwing an arm across his middle. He coughed lightly against the blankets, but soon his breaths evened out into sleep. Finishing his own plate England reached up and placed the plate on the tray carefully and slipped out from underneath the boys arm,and tucked the blankets over the boy. Moving around the room carefully England began to pick up his clothes, freezing when America stirred. “Don’t go.”

“I'll be back” England promised.

“Hurry back,” America replied, burying his face in the blankets as he coughed.

“Go back to sleep.” England stepped into his trousers.

“Don’t make me wake up alone.” America pulled the blankets more tightly around himself.

“I'll come back when I can,” England promised and slipped into the secret passage. He wouldn't come back until morning, he couldn't.

***

France looked up at England when he came into the parlor for breakfast. Italy was chatting at Japan about something and America’s absence was blatant. “I would have thought you would have seen him off. We weren’t expecting you until luncheon.” He folded his newspaper and sat the fresh page on the table.

“What do you mean see him off?” England frowned “I'm grabbing a cuppa and heading to check on Alfred.”

“I was taking a walk early this morning and saw Alfred with his bags. He said he received a call and needed to head home. I’m sure we’ll receive the official excuse any minute.”

“How long ago was this?” England started, glancing at the grandfather clock on the wall.

France tapped his chin. “Probably an hour ago? Maybe an hour and a half?”

“That git!” England breathed and hurried from the room, barking at a servant to bring his car around. His irritation was transforming into anger.

***

England should have been pulled over. Easily more than once. But no cop was stupid enough to pull over a vehicle with royal plates. His car screeched into the docking zone and his eyes flicked over the flags. Good. They hadn't even properly began to pull away yet. Slamming his driver’s door shut, he stormed onto the dock and then made his way towards the ship. He was going to give Alfred a piece of his mind!

***

America leaned back in his cabin berth, trying to quell the headache that had settled into him along with an ache that had been growing for several days. He put the cloth back over his eyes and tried to get comfortable. His boss wanted him home. There were heavy footsteps in the hall outside his door, the handle turning before he could even respond. He figured it was one of his delegates and didn’t make any move to get up.

“You fucking git!” England snapped, the door slamming against the wall, bouncing back off the metal wall. England slammed the door shut behind him, murderous with anger

America jumped, hitting his head the low ceiling. “Arthur?”

“You fucking arsehole! _Ni allaf gredu ichi es va te_!” In his anger England dropped into a mix of Cornish and Welsh. America didn’t have a clue as to what he was shouting. His cheeks turned red with anger and the room around them seemed to drop in temperature.

Staring at him, America sat up slowly. His brow furrowed. He pushed up from the bunk and walked towards England. “I got a call, I have to go. It’s not you.”

“You fucking coward! _Sut allech chi tu se ven_! Without even telling me you fucking waltz out!?” His fingers balled into fists, tears of anger pricking at his eyes.

“You wouldn’t have been fucking surprised if you kept your promise!” A flush of anger came over America’s face. The feelings he’d had when he awoke soaring back to the surface. “I wanted to say goodbye to you!”

“Don't you dare say I didn't keep my word! I kept it!”

“You didn’t come back!”

“I told you I would come back when I could, which so happened to be what I was on my way to doing when France told you me you had run away!”

“I am not running away! My economy is falling apart, I have work to do! The treaty will work itself out. Or it won’t and you can happily build big boats again.”

“Exactly!” England screeched. “Your economy is falling apart! You look like shit and you've been hacking and coughing up a storm the entire time you've been here and then you just run off without even a goodbye! What if I hadn't been told and your room was just empty!? I would have called the guard! I would have been worried out of my mind that something had happened to you! That you had been grabbed by some foreign government or taken seriously ill and our last conversation was bitching about steak kidney pie!” The tears in his eyes let loose and he jammed his finger in Americas chest. “You were a fucking asshole at the meeting! Attacking me for your own personal gain! You had no problems stepping on me to look like some big nation! And then when I am hurt by the fact that you wield your ‘revolution’ over me like the executioner's axe you fucking take ill again and then disappear with no care for how I feel! No care for the fact that attacking me like that puts a crack in the trust that I have developed for you! Should I give you a sledge hammer and let you go to town!? I didn’t fucking know what happened! You could have gone home dying while we were fighting! While I was trying to figure out how to handle that you hurt me with ease! You didn’t come in to say goodbye! Don’t give me that blasted excuse that you had to leave! The fucking boat is nowhere near ready yet! Fuck you, Alfred!” England cried.

Hurt spiked through America’s chest. He hadn’t meant any of it! “I wanted to say goodbye! I didn’t want to wake you and to fight! I’m tired, Arthur!” America bit his lip for a moment. “And I always have to guess how you feel because you never tell me! I don’t actually know how you feel about any of this, anything that’s happened since the new century ticked over! When you yank away I have to wonder if it’s because you’re always going to let my revolution come between us! That you are always waiting for me to stab you in the back! I didn’t stab you in the back then and I’m not going to do it now! I told you how I felt and what I needed from you! You didn’t listen!” Emotion welled up in America’s face and he turned away.

“You’re the one who brought it up again! We haven't faced this issue since your civil war, Alfred! You made it an issue again!”

“It’s always there! You won’t even come visit me during July. You avoid it and... it’s a part of me. A part of us.”

“I spend July sick! You want me to come on a pleasure trip to visit you while I'm unconscious!?”

“That’s not what I want.” America turned back around, he stepped toward England, holding out a hand, giving England the choice to let him touch him or not. “You mean so much to me and... I didn’t mean to hurt you. I hate that you can’t celebrate with me because my revolution means something different to you than it does for me.”

“And I hate that you won’t let it go! That this is just how it is and I wish you would just accept that!”

“I’m trying.” He let his hand drop when England didn’t move towards him. He stepped back and sat down on the edge of the bunk. “It’s two steps forward and one step back, huh?”

“It wouldn't have had to be.” England brushed at the hot tears on his cheeks angrily.

“Come sit with me. Please?” America asked, looking up at him.

“Damn it, Alfred.” England rubbed at his cheeks hard, staring at the floor.

America didn’t move for a moment, but then pushed himself up, coming back to England. He wrapped his arms loosely around him. “I’ll call you when I get home. Or I can write to you the old-fashioned way, at least it doesn’t take six months to get to you anymore.”

***

England tensed for a moment, his first reaction was to push the other one away. The resistance last only a moment before he leaned into the embrace, fingers knotting into the back of the younger’s shirt. For the time being his anger was pushed to the back of his mind. “You can't just up and leave like that. Even if we are fighting.”

“Okay,” America said, tightening his hold a little.

“When is the boat set to depart?”

“It was supposed to go out a half hour ago, but there’s something with the engine that they need to tweak.”

“Oh.” England tucked his head beneath America’s chin, closing his eyes. He could be angry later. It was easier to be angry at America when he wasn’t standing right in front of him.

America held him, absentmindedly rubbing circles between England’s shoulder blades with his hand. He pressed a kiss into his hair. “Careful, or I’ll end up taking you home with me.”

“Don't sound so reluctant,” England muttered.

“I’d take you out west and we could play at being normal people.”

England couldn't help but snort. “That's a pipe dream.”

“I know, but it’s fun to imagine it. Not having to worry about all this stuff. You’d have a big stuffed armchair and a bookshelf that was always overflowing onto the floor. I could tinker with stuff in the garage.”

“That would be lovely.”

“Go driving on the weekends.”

“And you would have enough land for me to have a garden,” England leaned back to look at him.

“Of course.” America smiled at him.

“I like this plan better and better.”

“Me too.” America leaned forward, lips brushing his. Before the kiss could go anywhere, there was a knocking on the cabin door.

“Lord Kirkland? The captain says we need to depart the ship since they’ve fixed the problem and are ready to get underway.”

“And I need to convene last minute treaty agreements with the American delegate. Tell the captain that I need ten more minutes. It's of international importance,” England countered.

“I’ll tell him, sir.” The footsteps began to recede.

“Listening makes everything easier,” England hummed. “Now what were we discussing delegate?”

America smiled at him, pulling England back in for a soft kiss. His arms tightened around England’s waist, tipping him backwards. A noise of surprise escaped England and he smiled against the other’s mouth. It was easier this way, not talking. England tried not to think about how powerful America had become and how often they would butt heads more and more. They could pretend this was okay for now. England could deal with the fallout tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you are enjoying our work please leave a kudo or a comment!
> 
> Next time on Tangled and Tied... The LA Summer Olympics of 1932 and a jaunt with one of America's most infamous couples...


	16. Games of All Kinds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England arrives at the Winter Games in Lake Placid, New York. Competition and puzzled hearts. England rediscovers that magic can still be useful in a modern age.

_February 1932_

_Lake Placid, New York_

_1932 Olympic Winter Games_

“You only brought figure skaters?” America asked, flopping on England’s hotel room bed as he began to unpack his luggage. There were seventeen nations present at the games. Fourteen events, eleven days. America was excited. It had been a toss up between the mountains of California or New York, and the committee had settled on Lake Placid. “I guess that means you can watch when my team trounces Matt’s at ice hockey. If you think you’ve seen him mad, you haven’t seen him when he loses at hockey.”

“You think Matthew is going to lose to you?” England arched a brow, pulling out a suit bag and moving to hang it up. He was loathe to have to put it on. He was much more comfortable in his trousers and polo neck, but he would have to be in nicer attire for the start of the events.

“I’m gonna dominate these games!” America boasted, grinning at him.

“If you say so.” England shook his head and turned to eye the room, running a hand through his hair. America’s continued state of Prohibition had banished all liquor. He could no doubt find some, but it would require going out. He supposed he could just pretend he was normal and go out like this.

America watched him, his face lighting up as he remembered something. “Oh!” He hopped off the bed and rummaged through his bag. “I forgot to give you these the last time I saw you. They’re called Twinkies.” He offered England a package of pastries.

England stared at them. “What the bloody hell is that? That doesn't even look like food!”

“You’re one to talk about things not looking like food.” America laughed. “C’ mon, try it.”

“Maybe later. After a few shots.”

“Your loss.” America shrugged. He coughed into his sleeve. “It’s gonna be big.”

“If you say so.” England latched the empty luggage shut and shoved it under the bed, sitting next to Alfred. A silence fell over the room and England glanced out the window. There was an awkwardness about them meeting again after their last get together. America didn’t seem to hold a grudge.

America leaned his shoulder into England’s, seemingly happy with being close to him. “When the others are asleep want to go skating? I can show you how fast I can go.”

England's arched a brow. “Really?”

“Why not?” America asked.

“Is Matthew going to be there?”

“Do you want him to be? It’ll probably mean Francis will come.” He settled his arm against England’s waist. England leaned into the touch.

“I can just tell him that the Frog isn’t welcome.”

“Do you really think he’d listen?” America leaned his cheek on England’s hair.

“Yes, I do. Matthew would do it if I asked.”

“Maybe I wanted to skate with you alone.”

“Just maybe?”

“Arthur, I want to skate with you alone.” He pressed a kiss to the side of England’s head.

“See now was that so hard?” England hummed, turning his head to stare at the other. “I expected a much different greeting.”

“You mean one like this?” America leaned in and kissed him, fingers coming up to brush across his cheek.

“I suppose that will do for now.” England smiled, kissing him back softly, his hand resting on America's thigh. “I know who the better skater is.”

“Who?” America asked, moving his mouth to England’s neck.

“I'll tell you after.” England hummed in amusement as the boy grumbled against the fabric barrier. Polo necks were not the best for these type of activities.

“I’ve only got about twenty minutes. Gotta make the rounds and greet everyone.” His fingers found the button at England’s throat, pulling at the fabric.

“We can make do with twenty minutes.”

“Sure can.” America grinned, pulling England onto his lap.

***

America paused, adjusting his tie. “How do I look?” he asked England.

“Very dapper.” England swatted his hands away to straighten the tie. “There, much better.”

America smiled at him. “Okay, let’s do this. Gotta get down there before everyone mistakes Matt for me.”

“I suppose we should go. I did come across the world for this so it would be proper if I actually made an appearance.” England smoothed his hands over the front of his shirt with a hum of finality before plucking his jacket up off the bed.

“You wanna walk down with me?” America asked, pausing in the door frame. His face was guarded, asking a question. It would mean something if they arrived together.

“Yes, I don't have the patience to wait.”

America smiled at him, coming over to press a kiss onto his cheek. “Then let’s go. I put you in a seat next to Kiku and Lukas at dinner. My boss wanted me to sit by Ludwig.”

“Whatever for?” England frowned.

“He’s been pretty bad off, right? My boss thinks it would be good to make him feel welcome.” They started into the hallway, going to the stairs. “He wants to keep the arguing to a minimum. I told him I’ve got this.”

“I-” England shrugged. “I haven't talked to him as much as I used to since he left my bed”

A little furrow appeared on America’s face at the reminder. “That was a hundred years ago. You never just talked to him?”

“On and off a bit. I talk more with Gilbert.” England shrugged again as the lift doors closed behind them.

“He was a lot of fun to try and out engineer before, we had a lot of the same ideas. After the war though, he’s not the same. I guess no one is.” He sniffed, pulling out his handkerchief. “I wanted to sit by you, but my boss said no. He’s worried about how it’ll look for the election. The Republicans don’t like it when we look too cozy.” America bumped England with his shoulder.

“Glad to know, maybe we shouldn't associate while I'm here then,” England said dryly, his mind flicked over the nations that were present. Austria, Belgium, Canada, Czechoslovakia, Finland, France, Germany, Hungary, Italy, Japan, Norway, Poland, Romania, Sweden, and Switzerland. “Now that I think about it that won't be too hard. Vladimir reached out to me last month to ask for some time with Matthew and I. I also will be sharing that hotel room for the duration of my stay.”

“I don’t think Matt is going to be that available. Francis on this side of the Atlantic?” America frowned. “And what do you mean ‘easy’ to avoid me? It’s none of Hoover’s business if I want to spend my nights with you.”

“Matthew already has been talked to about his learning time with Romania and I. He is more than excited for the opportunity.” England sniffed and arched a brow. “I just told you I was sharing that room, Alfred.”

“Then you’ll have to come to my room. I’m not sharing.” America paused as the lift came lower and lower. He leaned into England’s ear. “You’re staying a few days after, right? Because I have plans for us.”

England mulled over it. He hadn't come to the decision whether or not he was ready to share a bed with America again. There was a reason that he had asked Poland to share a room with him. America didn’t have a chance to pry out an answer as the lift reached the bottom and he pulled open the doors. Noise flowed in around them. America put on a smile and stepped out into the crowd, joking that the others didn’t wait to start on the appetizers. He headed straight into the crowd with a confidence that England had only seen when America was with nations he knew well. A bravado that he hadn’t seen.

“Am I, like, allowed to drop my luggage off in our room, yet?” England turned to see Poland standing behind him. “You need to totally hang something on the door handle next time,” his friend teased.

“We didn't even do anything.” England scowled.

“Why risk it?” Poland grinned. “I can totally, like, cover for you if that’s what you’re after. But after I put your _kochanek_ and your colony in their place on the ice rink I’m going to see Liet. Did you know he’s been living someplace called Milwaukee?”

“Toris is in the US?” England frowned.

“He says he’s working. I just have to, like, scope out the situation you know.” Poland eyed America from across the room as he made Finland laugh at a joke he’d told.

“I can't believe nothing has been said.” England frowned, crossing his arms. “I can talk to Alfred.”

“He finally has independence in 1918 and he comes and stays in America’s house.” Poland’s expression came to match England’s. “Alfred’s government won’t even let his people come into the country anymore. I don’t know what he’s doing here... do you, like, think Alfred would be honest if he’s behind closed doors with my Toris?”

There was a twinge in England's chest at the question and he grew irritated, glaring daggers into America’s back. Part of it was irritation on his part and the other was irritation for making Poland ask this question. Poland and Lithuania had been through far too much already for this now. “I highly doubt anything is happening Feliks. Toris is besotted with you - don't give me that cocky look - and America and I have an agreement.” His lips pursed and America must have felt eyes on the back of his neck because he turned to stare at them.

He offered England a smile, and when England’s expression didn’t change, he excused himself from the Scandinavians. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Toris.” England and Poland said in unison.

“What about him?” America asked. “He’s fine.”

“And staying at your home,” England cut in.

“Which totally leads to questions that might result in, like, bad things.”

America looked at both of them, confusion on his face. “He needed a place to stay and asked me. I said yes. We’re friends.”

“Without letting people know?” England's lips pursed.

“I didn’t think it was a big thing. Must have slipped my mind.”

“Letting a man stay in one of your personal homes isn't like a big thing?” Poland got the words out before England could even open his mouth.

“He’s not squatting, I gave him a job to do. I have a lot of houses.”

“You know what it looks like Alfred,” England said cooly.

America tilted his head, slightly distracted by some argument that was brewing between Austria and Switzerland. He turned back to England, blue eyes completely guileless. “Looks like what?”

“You could just tell me if you’re sleeping with other nations while I'm not here,” he said slightly, glancing at Poland who was looking grim.

Taking England by the elbow he pulled him a few more steps away. “I’m not! Why can’t you believe me when I tell you that you’re the only one I want? I’m doing Toris a favor, his home isn’t exactly stable right now and he wants to avoid Ivan.” He glanced at Poland before whispering, “And he told me he doesn’t want Felix hanging over him when he’s trying to figure out what he wants.”

“You do know how it looks when I had to wait to hear it from somebody else rather than hearing it from you and now you've gone and pissed off Felicks. He wants to kill you.”

“It’s not like you inform me about every nation that visits you. Unless you want to be that transparent with each other? We could probably negotiate that, could save us both a lot of manpower in intelligence.”

England frowned. “They stay in the palace! They don't stay in my personal homes.”

“I don’t have palaces to keep them in.” America sighed. “And Toris must have told Felix. If I had known that I would have told you. He’d asked to keep it quiet.”

“To keep it quiet from me?” England asked quietly.

“From everyone. So I set him up in Wisconsin and have been doing other stuff. I’ve probably only gone out there a few times.” America reached out to touch him, but paused, glancing at the busy room. “We’re just friends. You and Felix don’t have to worry. I mean, I hadn’t seen the guy smile, like actually smile, ever, and he seems better now.”

“You could have told me.”

“Arthur, I...” The dinner bell rang, dragging everyone’s attention to going into their table. “We’ll talk more after dinner, okay?”

“Possibly. I may be driving to Wisconsin.” England pulled away and rejoined Poland, heading for the table.

***

America watched England from his seat between Germany and Finland. While on one side, conversation was taking place, Germany was completely silent. He picked at his meal, staring at it. He was eating slowly, but he took in every piece of food that he could get. “Are you going to be able to compete at the games?” America asked, trying to start a conversation and distract himself from the glances that England kept throwing at him.

“My people are prepared. It won’t be easy to beat us.” Germany glanced at him, just a hint of the competitive look in his eye that they used to share.

“I’m gonna dominate these games,” America teased back. “We’ll have to play hockey, it’s just you, me, Matt, and Felix competing.”

“I don’t know if they would want to play with me.” He looked up at the rest of the table and then back down at his plate. “You don’t have to be nice to me. I’m used to it by now.”

“I don’t really have any reason not to.”

“You saw what happened during the Great War.”

“I tried to get them to go easier on you.”

“I know.” Germany frowned at his plate. “Yet, you still sided with them.”

“Ludwig, c’mon it’s the Olympics! I’m definitely not on their side right now, my athletes are going to win.”

“They can try.”

“That’s the spirit!” He glanced across the table again to see England deep in conversation with Poland.

***

It was an early night, no reason to stay up late when the games would be starting in the morning. America yawned, he’d been up before dawn getting everything ready for the other nations’ arrivals. He walked through the hallway, surprised by how quiet everything was. Well, considering that no one was allowed to drink in public was probably a large contributor. He paused outside England’s door, then decided to knock.

It swung open almost immediately as if someone had been standing on the other side. “ _Tak_?” Poland started at him, luggage in hand. “Oh, it’s, like, Alfred.”

America stared at the luggage. “Are you going somewhere? You just got here.”

“Totally Wisconsin. Arthur is driving.”

“You do realize that’s a several day drive from here.” America frowned. “Where’s Arthur?”

“In the bathroom.”

Shouldering past Poland, America made his way towards the suite’s second door. “Arthur!”

“Do stop shouting.” England frowned as he stepped back. He had changed back into his comfortable clothes of trousers and turtleneck. He would need to teach England that was what they were really called. Polo neck sounded weird.

“You’re leaving? The games start tomorrow! We can pick up the phone and call Toris if it’s that big of a deal. I’ll talk to him. Or did you guys forget about telephones and that there’s no need to leave to talk to someone?” America crossed his arms, frustration that England was trying to leave to go and see someone else.

“Feliks wants to talk to him in person.” England stepped around him to hang his suit up.

“So why do you have to go? It’s a few days by train, you guys will miss everything!”

“I said I would drive him, it's faster.” England shrugged and shot a glance at Poland before closing the door to his room, the flamboyant nation dropping onto the couch in the shared living room.

America stepped closer to England and reached out to touch his shoulder. “But I wanted you with me for my first winter games. I’ll call Toris and have him come here.”

“You really think he is going to come here? And you are the one who said that we can’t be seen together. This should make it easier to resist temptation.” England caught his hand.

“I don’t know, but I don’t want you to leave.” He squeezed England’s fingers. He stepped closer, pressing his forehead against England’s. “And if my boss thinks he can keep me from you he’s got another thing coming.”

“Really now?” England peered up at him. “Well, that's good because you need to remember your place.”

“My place? On top of you maybe?” America teased, his free hand reaching up to brush against England’s cheek.

England grabbed his other hand, forcing them down. “Beneath,” he growled.

Fingers going to England’s belt, he tugged. “Top, bottom, as long as I’ve got you.”

England stepped back. “Good.”

“And?” America kept hold of England’s fingers so he couldn’t get too far.

“You remember that while I'm gone.”

“You’re not going.”

“Yes, I am.”

America pulled his hand back, hurt clear on his face. “Fine, go. You can see for yourself that nothing is going on since you won’t take me at my word.” He turned on his heel and started out of the room.

“And once again you are reading far to into this Alfred.” England’s upper lip curled.

America turned around. “Then tell me what you’re doing! I can fix it with a phone call, but you still want to leave.”

“Feliks wants to go down there, why is that so hard to understand!?”

“I don’t care if he goes. Why do you need to go?”

“Because he needs someone to take him and then leave with the car!” England huffed when America stared at him. Dragging his hands through his hair, he glared at the younger for a minute. “If I had been taken away by another country for decades you couldn't see me and then all of a sudden you find me free, away from other nations with no one to bother us and a chance to just talk and someone who was able to get you there... what would you do?”

“And what if you weren’t sure you wanted to see me? And then I appeared with no warning?”

“I'd be angry at first, but I wouldn't stay that way,” England admitted.

“Wait until morning. I can check in with him, maybe he’d want somewhere neutral.”

“Alfred, I've known both of them for such a long time. Let Feliks go.”

“And Toris is my friend. Let me tell him that he’s here and wants to see him.”

“And get in the middle.”

America sighed. “I’m gonna make the call. I hope you don’t waste several days’ drive. If you could wait until after the games, then I would take you myself.”

“Why can't you just let me help a friend?!”

“I’m not saying you can’t. I’m saying...” America stepped back towards him. “I’m saying that this, my first winter Olympics, is important to me and I want you to be there.”

Conflict grew on England’s face. He let out a breath of air. “Put me in place of Toris and you in Feliks’ place. Could you do it?”

“I would never lose track of you for decades.”

“He didn't lose track! He couldn't do anything and that's not what I asked!” England hissed in irritation. “Could you do it?!”

“I will always come and find you.” America crossed his arms. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want you to go.”

“Just like it doesn’t change the fact that you are asking Feliks to do something that you just admitted that you could never do yourself.” The tension faded from England's shoulders.

America’s own shoulders slumped and his hands fell to his sides. “I’ll put you on a mail plane. It’ll take some finagling, but then you’ll be there faster. The weather is good so they should still go out.”

Closing the distance between them England twined his fingers with America's and tucked himself against the taller man. “Thank you for understanding.”

He wrapped an arm around him. “Just hurry back, okay?” He held him for a moment. “I have to make some calls. I’ll drive you to the airfield.”

“You never asked if you could come.”

“Because I can’t. I’m the host country and as amusing as it would be to try and get Matt to cover for me, I don’t think he can pull off being me for very long.” He pressed a kiss to England’s forehead. “But I can drive you to the plane.”

“How long will the plane take?”

“A few hours. It’s about 800 miles by air.”

“See, so I'll be back by morning.”

“I hope so. I’ll get it arranged.” He gave England a quick kiss and began to pull away.

“Then I'll see you for luncheon.” He smiled and reached around opening the door. “Come on Feliks! Alfred is getting us a plane!”

***

It was growing late when they arrived at the airfield, the last mail bags being loaded in anticipation of the flight. “It’s not gonna be comfortable, but you can go quickly. I’ve got one on the other end for you,” America said as he cut the cut his car’s engine and hopped out to talk to the pilots.

“Perfect.” England smiled as Poland and he slipped out of the car, Poland hauling luggage while England remained empty handed.

“This is, like, totally going to get me killed.” Poland stared at the tiny plane.

“It might have some turbulence, but you’ll make it just fine.” America stopped beside England and put a hand on the small of his back. “Don’t get airsick.”

“I don't get airsick.” England scoffed and turned to Poland giving him a hard squeeze. “Good luck, Feliks. You two need to come over for supper when this is all over.”

“Like, totally.” Poland grinned as the pilot waved at them to let them know he was ready. “You two, like, have fun at the games.” He grinned and grabbed his bags and left them by the car and ran for the plane.

America’s eyes widened and he looked at England. “You’re not going?”

England shook his head. “No, I never said that I was flying to Wisconsin. I said that I was driving there. Since you came to the conclusion that driving was not appropriate my plans changed.”

Grinning, America walked back to the car. “Then get in.”

“And to think that you are angry with me just moments ago.”

“There’s no reason now, darling. And...” As soon as England settled against the seat, America leaned over, hooking his fingers into the front of his shirt. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to his mouth. “You’re staying...”

“And bloody ready to sleep. I'm tuckered.”

“There’s plenty of room next to me.”

“I cannot sleep next to the competition.”

“It’s bobsleighs tomorrow, you didn’t bring any teams.” He put the car in drive and began heading back towards the hotel. “So I’m not the competition until figure skating.”

“Nope. Not until it's over.”

Impatience entered America’s face. “On one condition.”

“Oh, one condition?” England snorted.

“You stay with me an extra day for each gold medal I win.”

“You know that's not something I can agree to.”

“Fine. An hour, just us, for every medal that I win.”

“I suppose that's doable.”

America smiled. “Deal.”

***

“I can’t believe Matt beat me at hockey...” America pouted, dropping into a chair near the fireside. He frowned at his brother who was still wearing his white sweater emblazoned with a large maple leaf across the front.

“As expected.” England settled down into the opposite chair, doing nothing to hide the small maple pin on his blazer, squeezing Canada's shoulder. “I said as much.”

“I’m gonna beat you one of these days.” America said. “Gonna have a comeback tomorrow in skating! Arthur, you better bring it.”

“Doubtful is what I guess is what Matthew wants to say.” England grinned at the shy blond who smiled back.

“Your days are numbered, Mattie.” America laughed. “Where’s Francis anyway?”

“He was with his athletes last I saw him,” said Norway, pulling out a seat at the table. He offered a nod to England. “Very serious about the figure skating.”

“Afternoon, Lukas.” England looked to the newcomer with a smile. The blond Nordic was going to help him train Matthew later that evening. For now England was enthralled by the uniform Canada had chosen, a white sweater with a crimson maple leaf and dark trousers.

“Watch out in the skiing competitions, we’ll give you a run for your money,” America teased, showing a moment of camaraderie with Canada as he grabbed his brother around the shoulders.

Canada rolled his eyes and England snorted “Alfred I think Matthew may have you beat for winter sports. He’s much more accustomed to the cold.”

“Cold doesn’t matter,” America insisted, sniffling a little. Despite the fact that he had won the bid for the Olympics, he was still reeling from economic depression. “I’d win in one on one.”

“That’s a dangerous bet to make,” Matthew commented quietly and England laughed behind his hand.

America shrugged. “I get it, Matt, you don’t want to look silly.”

“Can I cast my vote for Matthew once again?” England leaned back in his seat.

“No,” America said. “You’re gonna watch. I’ll get Ludwig to judge. He got bronze so he knows what he’s doing.”

“I'm still going to side with Matthew for the win. Sorry, love.”

A cough and a sniff. “That’s just gonna make me play harder.”

“Good.” England grinned and Matthew nodded.

“I don't want to beat you that easily, Al.”

“I was distracted earlier,” America grumbled, handkerchief trying to staunch his bloody nose. He coughed again. “You play dirty, Matt.”

“Likely story.” England got to his feet and walked over to America, placing a hand on his forehead. He was warm. “You should lie down and rest up to get ready.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Let me walk you to the hotel room,” England pressed as Matthew joined England in his hovering.

“It’ll pass,” America insisted.

“You need to lay down before supper. No arguments.” England pulled him from the chair.

“Manhandling.” America teased, following him out of the room. A wave of coughing hit him when they were in the hall. “Dangit, I was hoping the Games would help me feel better.”

“That was a foolish notion.” England shook his head. “I have no idea which room is yours.”

“People visiting, lots of money.” America pointed. “Second floor, on the end.”

“Not enough to fix the problem you have,” England responded as they walked down the hall. “You really shouldn't have pushed hard.”

“I couldn’t exactly sit in an armchair with a blanket in my lap.” He wiped at his nose again. “Not suited to it.”

“Not an armchair, but sitting would have been a better idea.” England sniffed, taking America’s key from his hand and unlocking the door. “Dress down.”

“Too tired.” America sat down on the edge of the bed and kicked off his shoes. “This is why I didn’t sit down.”

“You need to sleep, now come on.” England sighed and stopped in front of the other with a shake of his head. Familiar fingers made quick work of pulling America’s sweater over his head.

“Will you sit with me?” America asked, eyes drifting shut after he pulled his glasses from his face.

England was silent for a moment, struggling with the emotional tug of war, his mind drifting back. America had technically apologized for the last time they’d argued. “Of course, love.”

Pulling his legs up, America stretched out. He pulled the blankets over himself. He smiled. “Good.”

“Your trousers are still on and dirty,” England protested.

“I guess...” He reached beneath the blankets and loosened the button. Struggling for a moment, the trousers ended up on the floor. “Better?”

“Much.” England nodded and pulled his dark blue polo neck off, folding it primly before draping it over the back of the chair. America watched him from the pile of blankets.

“Are you getting in with me?”

“Shall I leave?” England’s fingers lingered on the fabric.

“No, don’t go. I just... you’ve been avoiding me.”

England’s fingers bunched the fabric. “Yes, let's bring that up shall we, rather than just going with the flow. Let's bring things of tension up and make it all rather awkward. Delightful choice.” His words dripped with sarcasm.

“I’m not! Get in with me.” America pushed back the blankets. When England didn’t move he added again. “Get in with me.” More forceful.

England looked at him sharply, eyes narrowing. This was the perfect foundation to start the fight all over again and he was sorely tempted to. Inhaling slowly England seized the other up, fingers flexing on his hanging hand. “Then don’t bloody bring up things.” It was said with warning.

“Get in bed with me. I just want to sleep.” He rolled over, giving England more room to slip in beside him.

“Oh now you want to sleep. After I had to drag you here.” England sighed and slipped his trousers from his hips, folding and laying them out in the same fashion before doing what the other man wanted and crawled into the bed.

“We’re already here,” America whispered sleepily.

“Go to sleep, Alfred.” England pulled the blankets up to his chin as he curled against the other. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“Can’t sleep that long. Work to do.” America relaxed against him, body melting against England’s.

“If you are gone when I wake I will be furious with you.” England yawned.

***

America felt warm, comfortable, but something tickled at the back of his mind. He jolted, staring into the darkness of the room. “Crap, what time is it?”

“Bloody...” England grunted rolling into his back as America disrupted him from his spot on the boy’s chest. “It’s pitch, probably after midnight.”

“I wasn’t expecting to sleep this long...” America leaned over England to peer at the bedside clock. “It’s one...” He settled on England’s chest, giving up on the clock. His weight was warm, heavy, but not unpleasant. “Too late now.”

“For what?” England asked out of politeness. He was much more interested in going back to sleep.

“Rubbing elbows.” America took a deep breath, getting comfortable. “I’ll just have to get up early.”

“My same feelings still apply,” England grumbled.

Sighing, America asked. “Does that mean you want me to let you up?”

England opened his eyes to stare at the other. “What the hell would that accomplish?”

“Nothing. I promise I won’t leave without waking you up to tell you.” He reached through the darkness and settled his fingers against England’s hair.

“You better not.” England sniffed, leaning into the touch. He had missed this simple intimacy and had been worried his pride would take it from him much longer than it had. America stroked his hair for several minutes, breath beginning to even back out into sleep.

***

Sunlight was bright against his eyelids and it was what woke England the next morning. Not housekeeping or room service or not by an over excited American. Judging by the weight slumped over his chest England didn't bother opening his eyes, he knew America was still sleeping and if the heat of the winter sun on his skin meant anything then it was late morning. They had slept through more than either of them had planned. England didn’t mind. His skaters were not performing until mid afternoon.

America’s brow furrowed as he stirred, blinking awake. He gave England a lopsided smile. “Good morning.” He clearly had no idea how late it was yet.

Squinting at America through sunlight, he murmured a good morning before leaning back into the pillows. “Sleep well?”

“You’re very comfortable,” America said, shifting forward so he could give England a small kiss. “Kinda skinny, but I’m used to it.”

“I am a perfect weight for my body type you ass.” England scoffed “Just because you want to be twice the size you are supposed to!”

“You like me this size,” America said, scooting forward so he could kiss him again.

England rolled his eyes “I suppose there are some benefits.”

“Like?”

England paused, a smile crawling up his lips. “Wait, maybe there isn't. Nothing that I can truly remember now that I think of it.”

America squinted at him for a moment. “That so?” he said, adjusting his position over England so he was pressed into the pillows. “I’ll remind you.” He kissed him again, his body caging England against the bed.

“Oh, please do,” England breathed, tangling his hands in America's hair.

His body was warm against England’s as his mouth moved from England’s own to pressing hot kisses beneath his ear, tasting England’s skin on his neck. “Remember?” he murmured.

“Nope still not jogging anything,” England breathed as there was a knock on the door and the hiss of piece of paper being slid under the door made itself known.

America pulled back, eyeing the paper. He sighed. “Hold that thought.” He climbed out of the blankets and picked it up, reading.

“If you were still in bed I could be holding much more,” England crooned, rolling onto his side. “It’s probably from Feliks letting me know he's not going to make it to the lunch or that he's planned because he is staying with Toris.”

“It’s concern about whether I am all right. What time is it?”

Reaching over to the bedside table, England pulled the clock toward him. “Just after noon.”

“Noon!? I needed to check and make sure everything was good to go!” He cursed, a cough catching him as he went to the wardrobe and began pulling on clean clothes.

“Alfred, come back to bed, I'm sure it's taken care of.” England did not move from his lounging position. “Let’s order room service.”

“I’ll call them.” He looked back at England, his eyes moving over his body for a moment before ducking into the other half of the suite. England could hear his muffled voice on the phone. It was nearly a quarter hour before he wandered back in. “I need to go downstairs. Apparently Roderich and Basch got into an argument and it’s a hullabaloo.”

“Seriously?” England sighed, dropping back against the pillows. “They always fight. Leave it be.”

“There’s some food coming up for you.” America came back to the edge of the bed, the loose ends of his tie wrapped around his shirt collar. He leaned over England, kissing him. “You already stole me for a long while, sweetheart.”

“I didn't steal anything. You were sleeping,” England protested.

“I think you can steal me again later. I have some reminding to do.” He leaned over him, smoothing a hand over England’s forehead.

“No. Stay." England grabbed his shirt.

“Give me a half hour to make an appearance and throw my weight around. Then I’ll be back and we can pick up where we left off.” He kissed him again, the soft, teasing touch full of promise.

“No.” England looked up at him. “Please.”

America’s eyes widened, his hands resting on either side of England’s body. “You want me to stay?”

“Stay.” England repeated.

“Tell me you want me to stay.”

“I did.”

“You ordered. You sort of asked. I want to hear you say what you want from me.”

“I-I...” England looked away. “Your continued presence would not be frowned upon while your leaving would be,” he mumbled.

America’s mouth quirked up at the edges. He shifted, England’s fingers tightening in his shirt. He leaned closer, his body radiating heat on England’s skin. “I’m gonna need more than that.”

“You leaving would piss me off,” England growled.

“Do you want me, Arthur?” America asked, a smile slipping onto his face.

England scowled and looked away again.“I...” he swallowed. “Yes.”

“Screw them then. Show me how you want me.”

England's eyes snapped to him and he grinned, reaching up, yanking him down.

***

“ _Mon ami,_ you are hopeless,” France said, leaning back into his seat in the stands, glancing at England. “You missed the first three skates.” As England took his seat, he eyed him closely.

“What does it matter to you, frog?” England sniffed primly. Yes, he was late. But his plan had worked. He had kept America so thoroughly busy the poor lad who had already been exhausted fell right back asleep. He probably wouldn't wake until the next morning. If it took sex to get the nation to sleep then so be it. England was more than willing to perform his service.

“Because our loud host has gone missing.” France gave him a look that said he assumed all sorts of things about their activities.

“You know as well as I that he has rather been under the weather and has been sleeping rather often.”

“Ah, yes, _sleeping._ ” He was distracted for a moment by the announcement of a French athlete. “You arrived just in time to see true art!”

“Yes, exactly sleeping,” England said firmly. “No unnecessary physical activity until he get better.”He ignored the comment. “My skaters can teach yours quite a few things it appears.”

“She is magnificent. You have no taste, Arthur.” He threw him a sidelong glance. “Except I do applaud you for whatever you have done to prevent _Amerique_ from yet another opportunity to show off.”

“I'm sure I have no idea what you are referring to, frog.” England sniffed.

“You are no fun at all, give me something. I may be inspired.”

“There is nothing to speak about that is your business,” England hissed. “What happens in my private space does not concern you.”

“Likewise, _mon ami_ , I rather resented that call to _Mathieu’s_ rooms two nights ago.”

“He had training which we agreed on. Other nations had put aside time for it. It was warranted!”

“You always say that. If only I believed it.” France cheered loudly as the scores were read for his skater.

England stared at him, worry rolling in his gut as something occurred to him. “Francis…”

A glance. “You clearly have something to say, so out with it. We’ve known each other far too long to, as you say, mince words.”

“Have you forgone the old ways completely?”

“We live in a world of machines now,” he said. “It doesn’t do to be left behind.”

“That isn't an answer, Francis, ” England hissed leaning into France's space. “Have you really left everything behind? All of them!?”

“As you say, it’s none of your business. Alfred’s ice dancers are surprisingly good,” he said, not looking at England at all.

England's hand reached out and he gripped France’s arm. “And you say we've known each other long enough. Out with it, Francis!”

“My interest in the arcane died with my monarchy. Are we finished with this topic of conversation, _mon ami_?” France’s voice had taken on an edge. England moved away as if he had been burned, getting to his feet so quickly his chair was knocked back.

“I'm feeling under the weather, I will be heading to somewhere quiet. My condolences”

“You are not going to watch the competition?”

“No. Have a good afternoon.” England's fingers flexed into a fist and he made his way down the aisle of chairs. He couldn't believe it. Out of all people he had expected Francis to respect the past, to not forget their roots. And yet here it was. He felt nauseous.

“Arthur?” He almost didn’t hear the voice at first, but the hand on his shoulder startled him. He turned around to see Canada, a worried expression on his face. “Is something wrong with Alfred? It’s not like him to miss something like this and when you walked away from Francis...”

England wanted to yell. He didn't want to talk. He swallowed “Alfred's fine he is just sleeping. Don't worry”

Relief washed over Canada’s face, but as he looked at England, the worry set back in. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, Matthew. Francis and I just had a disagreement.”

“Don’t be angry with him, whatever it is... please.”

England stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“Alfred isn’t the only one that’s sick you know. We all feel dreadful and everyone’s fighting.” Canada caught a sneeze in a hastily pulled out handkerchief. “We shouldn’t be.”

“My disagreements with Francis don't always have something to do with you. We do have relations just between the two of us and we will deal with it as we see fit,” England said firmly, keeping the anger from his voice. 

“I didn’t say it had anything to do with me. I worry about both of you.” His brow furrowed as he contemplated something else. “Never mind. I’ll go check on Alfred. He won’t want to miss the races.”

“Leave him be. I left him sleeping because he needs it.”

“He needs some fun too. We all do.”

“And you’re willing to take his rest away from him so he can party?”

“And you’re willing to let him miss something he’s been working hard on since he won the bid? You haven’t seen what he and I are going through. This isn’t just economics. Our lands are drying up out west and we can’t seem to get a handle on it.”

A muscle in England's jaw jumped as he fought to keep his anger under control. He had been stalking both nation’s papers and his delegates and been relaying every detail to him for the last several years. He knew exactly what was going on. “Do what you want, Matthew.” He turned away and resumed his exit.

***

“Matt?” America mumbled as a weight landed on the bed beside him. It was too big to be England’s. There was a mumbled confirmation.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“No.”

“You missed the whole day.”

“What?!” America sat up, immediately regretting moving so quickly as a wave of aches went through his body. “Damn it, I was gonna hold it together!”

“I thought I was too.” Canada gestured for America to move over and the two brothers settled beneath the blankets. “I yelled at Arthur.”

“ _You_ yelled at Arthur.” America started to laugh. Canada elbowed him in the ribs. “Fine. What did you yell at him about?”

“He and Francis were picking fights with each other and I asked him not to.”

“That doesn’t sound like yelling to me.”

Canada explained what he’d said, America listening. “I think I hurt him...”

“He’ll get over it, he always does.” America muttered a little worry curling in his chest. “Hey, so who won the competition? Did I win the bet?”

“I’ll have to owe you,” Canada grumbled. America smiled, feeling sleepy.

“You can stay here if you want to avoid them for now.”

“Thanks.”

***

England really hadn't met to stay outside that long. After his fight with Matthew, he had felt suffocated and had to get out. He had hailed a cab and ended up at a store and purchased warmer gear. He needed to be alone and to think. He had simply meant to go out for a short walk, and he had meant to come back before the sun had fallen. But by the time he was released from his thoughts sunlight had faded. It took a while to find a cab.

Eyeing the hotel as they pulled up England fished out the crisp new American dollars and paid the cabbie. He was ravenous and was thoroughly planning to order room service.

There was note beneath his door when he stepped into his room. “Alfred hasn’t been seen all day. And Mathieu has been missing since you spoke with him. Any idea what could have become of them? - Francis.” The note was scrawled with a pencil, a hurried note.

England snorted and crumpled the paper in his hand. America was probably still sleeping and Matthew was probably off pouting or sleeping with him. He needed a bath before dealing with any of this. He swore softly as there was loud knocking on his door. He hadn't even had a chance to take off his coat. “What!?”

“Mr. Kirkland? I have a message for you, sir.” It was the voice of hotel staff that England didn’t recognize.

“That's not my title, but continue,” England said tightly.

“You have been invited to a private dinner tonight, sir. I have an address for you.” The message was read out. It was an invitation to a house, England could guess that it was one of America’s. Why would he drag him all the way out there instead of just eating with him in the hotel?

“Call for a cabbie.” England sighed staring forlornly at the bathtub. He just wanted a bath and bed.

***

America fluffed the blanket around his shoulders, waiting for England to arrive. The fire was hot and he watched the flames chewing at the wood as the scents of cooking food came out of the kitchen. He could hear Canada and France speaking with each other. The doorbell rang and he jumped off the sofa, blanket in tow. He opened the door. “Hurry in, Arthur, you look half frozen.”

“You had a house here all along and you had us stay in a hotel?” England asked in irritation as he stepped inside. He glanced towards the kitchen, jaw clenching as he slid out of his coat and other warm things.

“I couldn’t fit everyone in here and I didn’t want to be accused of playing favorites. Matt and I thought it would be nice if we all spent some time together.”

“Alfred I'm tired… I just spent the last seven hours trekking in the woods... I really just need a lie-down.”

“There’s room near the fire. It’s just a quiet night.” He stepped closer, offering a corner of the blanket to England.

“Alfred…” He glanced back the door with a sigh. “Must I?”

When he didn’t take it, he pulled England beneath the folds. “There’s a small house out back, I’ll banish them after they finish.” He paused. “What were you doing in the woods?”

“I was thinking,” England admitted his cheek pressing to the other’s shoulder. “I needed to be alone.”

“I was thinking, too.”

“Is that so?” He peered up at America. “Whatever about?”

“About how we could spend those hours you owe me for winning medals. And some other stuff.”

England flinched. He had forgotten about that and had called home to let them know he had plans to return earlier than anticipated. “About that...”

“What about it?”

“I will have to take a raincheck.”

Worry crossed America’s face. “Why? Did something happen?”

“I was upset and made plans to return home without checking who won.”

“What made you so upset? Not me?”

“No... it’s... it’s nothing, Alfred, don't worry about it.”

America pulled away slightly, looking into England’s face. “Whose ass do I need to kick?”

“Forget it.”

“I can kick them out, or we can go somewhere else.” America pulled him back close as if he could protect him from all of it with nothing but the blanket and determination.

“No, I don't want to cause any more grief.” England shook his head, tensing as France exited the kitchen.

France raised an eyebrow at him. “Dinner is ready.”

“Alfred, I think I'm going to stay in the sitting room by the fire.”

“Okay, I can bring you a plate,” America said, looking between him and France. Leaving England in the living room he followed France into the kitchen.

“Alfred, do you want-” Canada started.

“I want Francis to tell me what’s going on.”

“There is nothing going on.”France shrugged as he grabbed a plate. “I take it two are eating in the living room?”

America frowned at him, glancing at Canada. “Yeah, we’re eating in there.” He gathered up the plates and settled them on a dinner tray. He carried them into the other room and sat down beside England.France arched a brow as he watched America sweep from the room with not even a smidgen of a fight.

***

“Well, that went better than I thought,” France said.

“He’s not done,” Canada said.

“He should just get it over and take care of it now.”

“You could also tell Arthur you didn’t mean it.”

France reached out and touched Canada’s cheek. “ _Mon chou,_ I did mean what I said. I do not look down on those that do.”

Canada brushed France's hand away. “It was... did you have to be so blunt? You knew it would hurt him. You willingly hurt another.”

“I didn't do it on purpose. Arthur has overreacted as is his usual behavior.”

“He hasn't done anything Francis and how do you expect someone to react when you dismiss something the two of you used to hold dear together?”

“That was a very long time ago.”

“And it's something he is teaching me now.”

“I know. I do not fault either of you, it’s just I... became exhausted of it.” He looked towards the room where America and England sat. “I do not think it will do much good to apologize. If that was your hope, I am sorry.”

“No, I didn't expect that from you. I was hoping that there were things you could teach me as well.” He poked at the coq au vin. “But I guess that is fine if it's something that only I share with Arthur I suppose, eh?”

“I cannot teach you, but some books may have survived.”

“It’s fine.” He stared at the living room. They were supposed to have eaten together. Matthew wasn't sure if that was possible now or not.

***

“Thank you.. damn, of course, you both let the frog cook.” England sighed as he took the plate. He had settled onto the loveseat in front of the fireplace, glad for its warmth.

“Francis knows how to cook,” America said, looking back towards the kitchen. He could see France and Canada talking. “I thought you liked his food when he wasn’t looking.”

England sniffed in disdain. “Never,” he insisted,but took a large bite anyways.

America smiled, watching him, wanting to warm up the red on England’s cheeks from the cold. “I think Matt wanted to eat with you too.”

“He knows where we are.”

“He filled me in on the figure skating. Francis’s skaters won the pairs, but mine got silver. Lukas and Roderich took the golds in the other categories. Matt got a bronze. I wanted to see your skaters.” America chatted, his body warm where it leaned against England’s.

“I am sure that everyone did fine. I really only saw a half of a performance.” England shrugged, leaning closer into the other.

“You owe me a skate one of these days.”

“I said rain check.” England whined, leaning his head back. He couldn’t handle any more decisions today. He had gone to the woods to avoid it all.

“That’s why I said one of these days.” America leaned against him and kissed the side of his head. “Are you leaving before the games are over?”

“The morning after. I promised my skaters they could stay and see it all.”

“Will you stay with me until you go?”

“I suppose.”

America wrapped an arm around his waist. “That’s good.” He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up at Canada. “How’s it going in there, Matt?”

“We were going to go upstairs. I just wanted to see if either of you needed anything.”

“I am fine.” England's eyes fixed on the fire. They listened to the other two going up the stairs, quiet descending on them. America yawned.

“I’m excited about the summer Olympics in LA. We’ll have to make plans. Hopefully I won’t be sick anymore.” America sniffed.

“Hopefully.” England's fingers curled into fists about the blanket as he stared at the fire. He was just so done with it all. He couldn't wait to go home and be alone again. Some time alone and then perhaps once Poland was available again... and maybe Portugal.

America was quiet for a while. “Are you mad at me? Or at the world?”

“I'm not cross.”England sighed heavily looking up at the ceiling “I am just tired.” He was surprised he was still awake. He had spent much of his time in the woods that day practicing. Performing every small spell he could think of as fast and as many times as he could as if to reassure himself it was still there. And then even some large ones. He would not be surprised if once he went to bed he would not rise again until tomorrow evening and then be ravenous.

“If you’d sent word... I would have come. My bed is comfortable here, not quite as fancy as in the city, but... it’s yours tonight.”

“I didn't want to see anyone that's why I went.”

America paused. “I can drive you back. Or somewhere else. Matt wanted me to tell you he’s sorry, by the way, he was frantic when you disappeared.”

“No, this is fine. I'm just tired. And I highly doubt he was that worried if he hasn't even come to talk to me yet,” England said dryly.

“You are intimidating to some people, sweetheart. Let’s eat, then I can tuck you in. You can stay here tomorrow if you want when the rest of us go back. There’s even tea in the cupboard for you.”

England looked at him silently for a moment before pulling him gently down by the collar and stealing a kiss. “Who are you and what have you done with my Alfred?”

“I haven’t gone anywhere.” America kissed him back. “Maybe I’ve just slowed down a bit due to my cold. And I was hoping we’d end up here at some point, so I bought tea.”

“That sounds lovely.” England hummed, leaning back against the arm of the couch, pulling America with him.

Following, America leaned over him, pressing England into the cushion as he kissed him. “I'm comfortable here if you are,” England murmured.

“It’s my house, we can be wherever we want.” He shifted, moving the plates to a safer place on the floor.

“Perfect.” England yawned loudly. America settled against him, body warm along the length of England’s. He tucked his head against his neck. He took England’s hand in his own, threading their fingers together, sliding against the fine bones as if he was mapping the way his hand felt.

“What are you thinking now?”

“That I’m glad you came.” He tilted his head so he could press a kiss to England’s jaw. “And that I plan to keep you warm. Can you reach the blanket off the back?”

Reaching up England dragged the blanket from the top, allowing it to pile on top of them. “I think that sounds like a wonderful plan.”

America adjusted, gathering England up against his body and getting more comfortable. He yawned, closing his eyes.

“Little furnace,” England murmured, greedily taking up his body heat and allowing the sleep to pull him under.

***

It was the last day of the games and America was leaning back against the stadium seats, enjoying the quiet of the empty arena. He’d done pretty well, winning the most medals by far. Twelve medals in total. Six gold. The only other nation that had come close had been Norway. America could only begrudge him so much since that nation had been skiing since before he existed. He needed to keep improving on that front. Next Olympics. He could hear footsteps on the stairs, he leaned back, glancing up and smiling at England as he came down the stairs. He’d been in his house for the last several days.

America smiled at the memory of how he’d left him that morning. England had been up early, sitting in a chair by the fire with a book in his hands. America had come up behind him, murmuring a good morning as he leaned over the chair. England had looked up, America had leaned down. He’d kissed him, England’s fingers reaching up to slide along his jaw. He hadn’t expected him to leave the house at all today.

“Hello,” he said, as England sat down a shoulder bag jostling his hip.

“Good afternoon.” He nodded to the other, his fingers briefly brushing America's back.

“Feeling better?” His fingers touched England’s coat for just a moment, as much as he could get away with.

“Much.” He smiled and looked around. “Where is Matthew?”

“Probably being modest. He won seven medals. Came in just behind me, Lukas, and Berwald. I may have shared some bootlegged liquor.” America smiled at him.

England rolled his eyes. “I need to find him.”

“In a minute I’ll show you.” America looked back at the expanse that had been set up for the winter games. “Best one yet.”

“It is large.” He tugged the edge of America’s coat.

America looked back at him. “It was, huh? Wait until you see what I’ve got planned for the summer Olympics in LA.” He grinned.

“I'm sure it's fantastic... now where is your brother?”

“All right. He’s down at the ice rink with the others.” He got up.

“Good. I need to speak with him. I came to do that and take you home.”

“Take me home, huh?” America said, bumping his shoulder against England’s.

“Yes, because I leave tomorrow,” England added casually as they rounded around a corner. England settled his hand briefly in the small of America’s back grinning wickedly as the boy jerked ramrod straight with a choked gasp, a familiar look flashing across his face for a brief moment. England couldn't believe that he had forgotten just how useful a little buzz of electricity could be. His palm hummed and England swallowed. “Love?” That walk in the woods and the last several days had been spent reminding himself just how little everyday magic was so useful.

“Well, let’s make this quick then. But remember, you owe me twelve hours.”

England frowned in disappointment, the American Nation wasn't known for composure and patience. England had been banking on that temperament, and so far it wasn't working in his favor. Although the thought of a challenge sent a thrill through the shorter blond male, he would push the envelope as far as it took. “Of course, love.”

America smiled, sniffling a little as they made their way through the cold. There was noise on the ice rink, their fellow nations milling around. A bottle was being passed that was labeled as fruit juice, but any closer and the smell of the distillery wafted through. Canada was on the ice with a few of the others, skating easily.

Crossing his arms England leaned against the railing watching. “Are you going to skate, Alfred?”

“Nah, I said we’re making this quick.” His fingers brushed against the back of England’s trousers as he walked toward the ice to call for Canada.

“Perhaps I plan to skate.” England sniffed, removing his bag and revealing a pair of skates.

“I thought you were just here to talk to Matt and then take me home?” America said, impatience flashing across his face.

“No, I said that those were things I planned to do. I would have just called you if that was the case. We might as well skate if we are here.” England finished tying off the laces and stepped out onto the ice, using America’s arm to stay close to the wall. His thumb rubbed against the underside of his wrist, his own hands still humming with his last spell. “Okay, love?”

America bit his lip, fingers tightening on England’s arm. He looked in his eyes. “No.” He pulled England close. “Because I have to make sure you remember our last night together until we meet again.”

“You can.” England pushed away. “After you watch me skate.” He gestured to his trousers and polo neck. “I'm dressed perfectly for it. Plus Matthew is out there. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.”

“Fine, I’ll get my skates. Gotta show you how I earned all those gold medals.” He began to step away.

“Perfect. We can spend the afternoon here and then go out for supper with everyone.”

Tying the laces on his skates, America stood up. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to torture me.”

England gave him an innocent look. “What do you mean? I've done nothing.”

Snorting, America slid away over the ice. “I’ll beat you to Matt.”

“I have no interest in racing.” England pushed off casually. “You’ll cause an accident.”

Flipping around to skate backwards, America said, “Matt will race with me.”

“And that will just add time to our stay just like you want!”England grinned.

America pulled him by the sleeve. “I’ll get him for you.” He zipped off, quickly catching up to his brother on the other end of the rink.

England shook his head and began to skate lazy serpentines across the rink, incorporating small circles. The competitive start towards him, startled England. The two, after all, had merely traded places on the podium several times in the speed skate. “Incoming!” America said, sliding to a stop and spraying ice. “Ha! I won!”

Crossing his arms, England shook his head. “So, about that cold?”

“I’m at a high point,” America said. “So, Matt... Arthur wants to talk to you.”

“And you can't be here, Alfred.” England shooed him.

America looked like he was about to argue, but kept it to himself. “Keep it snappy.” He slid away, catching up to a few of the others.

“Rude.” England breathed and watched him skate away. He glanced at Canada. “Matthew.”

Shuffling his feet, Canada came to his side. “Yes?”

“I am sure that you have talked with Francis by now.” His fingers tightened in the fold of his arms.

Canada crossed his arms, stance matching England’s. “I have.”

“And you've certainly heard his opinion on the topic.”

“He told me why and I think... his choices make sense for him.”

“No, I don't think they do,” England argued. “It’s a cop out on his part, but he is French so I don't know why I was surprised.” England took a deep breathe. He was too sober for that argument. “Are these lessons a waste of time for the two of us?”

“I hope you don’t feel that way,” Canada said quietly. “Just because Francis is... whatever he is to me... you’re still my brother.”

“That was a nice way to avoid answering my question.”

“It’s not a waste of time.”

England's shoulders relaxed visibly and he swallowed, a release of anxiety from his shoulders he didn't realize he had. “All right,” he said quietly.

Canada gave him a soft smile. “Do you want to skate?”

“I suppose since I have my skates on.” England smiled and pushed off, gesturing for the other to follow. Canada came after him, smiling a little as he saw America interrupt something between Austria and Germany.

“He was driving me crazy with all of this stuff. Wanted it to be the thing everyone talked about, until, as he puts it, ‘he shows us all how it is done at the summer Olympics’.” Canada threw England a rye smile.

England shook his head with a heavy sigh. “He is such a handful.”

“He’s spilling over.”

“Just like when he was a child…” He looked at Matthew. “You sure you want to keep your hair that long?”

“If I cut it too short then people mistaking me for him gets worse.” Canada rubbed the back of his neck.

England rolled his eyes before grinning. “That’s the only reason, huh?”

Canada blushed. “No.”

“I'm gonna ask again.” England turned to skate backwards, eyeing him as if looking for something. He reached out for Canada to take his hands. “Are you happy?”

Canada glanced up at him. “I love him.”

England's grip tightened for a brief moment. “I know you do... but that doesn't always mean happiness... are you happy?”

Canada sighed. “We don’t get to see each other very often. So, I like to spend as much time with him as possible when we’re able to be in the same place. I’m happy when he’s here.”

England frowned in concern. That didn't sound healthy. “So you’re only happy when you’re with him?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I’m happiest when I’m with him.”

“Well…” He offered a small smile. “That’s good.”

“Are you happy?”

“As I can be right now. Don't worry about me, Matthew.”

“You don’t have to worry about me either. Maybe we should worry about them.” Canada offered him a smile.

“I will always worry about you,” England promised.

“Thank you.” Canada came in closer so he could give him a hug. “Now you better go take care of Alfred before he riles someone up trying to get your attention.” He chuckled and released him.

“I'm not his babysitter.” England scowled, but peered around for the excitable nation.

“He definitely doesn’t want that.” Canada laughed. “Want me to catch him for you?”

“No, no, it's fine.” He shook his head and reached out tucking a stray hair back into his ponytail. “I love you, Matthew.”

“Hey! What are you guys talking about?” America’s voice was so close that it caused both of them to jump.

“Nothing. Done skating already?” England turned to look at him.

“I’ve been done before we started.” America looked at Canada, a small furrow on his brow.

“Oh come now skating is fun.” England shook his head and turned to Matthew squeezing his hands “I'll talk to you later.”

“You guys seemed to be having fun,” America said.

“We were just talking.” He frowned as he noticed his change in attitude. “What’s wrong?”

“It was so easy for you with Matt.” Hurt crossed America’s face and he sped up a few steps, putting distance between them. “I heard you.”

“What do you mean?” England frowned and stepped out of the rink as they got to the side.

“Love,” America said pointedly, leaning down to undo the laces in his skates.

“I didn't call him that,” England knelt over to pull at his own laces, cheeks pinking. “I only call you that.”

“Forget it, let’s go.” He offered England a hand up from where he knelt tying his laces. “Maybe it’ll come to you on the drive.”

England stared at America’s hand before grinning, rubbing his fingers together with a hum and grabbed America’s.

America jolted, a flush coming over his face. He shook his head again as if to clear the sensation. “Come on.”

“I am.” England sniffed and shoved his hands into his pocket, a slight swagger in his step as he walked next to the younger. “So,” he said quietly “You plan to make me remember this night, huh?”

“That depends.”

“On what pray tell?” England drawled.

“How good you are at paying attention.” America’s car was parked nearby the bleachers. It was a short walk to them.

The engine came to life and soon they were rumbling back through the town to America’s small house. They climbed out, casually going up to the door and going inside. England put his hand between America’s shoulder blades as he shrugged out of his coat. “How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” He pulled the coat the rest of the way off the man’s arms and hung it on the coat rack.

“Every time you touch me... it’s like...” He turned around to pull off England’s coat.

“It’s like what?” England peered over his shoulder innocently. He truly hadn’t meant to do it this last time. He had just been caught up on his own thoughts. Turning around as he was freed from the confinement of his winter coat he wrapped his arms about the other man's slender waist, pressing flush against him with a lazy air. “Like what, Alfred?”

“Like you’re under my skin. Like I can feel you everywhere.” America’s hands slid up England’s back.

“Really now. Everywhere?” England hummed.

“Real deep down.” America whispered, his breath warm on England’s ear.

“And what do you want me to do about it?”

“Come upstairs with me.” His hands settled on England’s backside, pulling him closer, hooking his hands under his thighs and lifting him up. “What do you feel?”

Another wicked grin lifted England’s lips and he dragged his nails over Alfred's scalp. “Shall I make you beg for it, love?”

He hoisted England a little more securely in his arms, as he stepped on the bottom step. “How long do you think you could draw it out?” He paused on the third step, mouth pressing to England’s neck.

“I think I could have you begging till sunrise.” England whispered, pulling America’s head back to drag a finger down over America’s throat as it bobbed when he swallowed.

“Do it,” America said, taking another step. He squeezed England’s thighs.

“You might be singing a different tone an hour in,” England murmured .

“Or you might.” He hoisted England, holding him in one arm so he could take his hand. He smiled at him, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand.

“Shit.” England swore quietly. America’s eyes turned mischievous, watching England as he took the end of one of England’s fingers in his mouth. He turned, leaning England against the wall as he adjusted his grip.

“Nuh uh.” England shook his head and pulled his hand away. “Up the stairs let’s go, now.” Always in charge.

“One more minute.” He undid the top few buttons of England’s shirt, his mouth pressing the hollow of England’s throat.

“Alfred...” England breathed, his own resolve faltering. He had planned to be completely in charge but now he wasn't so sure. Even with the last couple of days gone by he was still feeling emotionally raw. He needed to edge the other on. “I'm going to show you how it's done, teach you.” His hands constricted with a small buzz and he was suddenly desperate for his potions room back home. He could whip something up. A wicked grin lifted his cheeks once again. that would be so much fun.

“Show me what?” America asked, moving up the stairs once again. He leaned England against the doorway to the bedroom, turning the knob. Settling England on the edge of the bed, his hands began undoing his belt. “Keeping me in suspense, huh?”

England looked up at him, thinking of the contents of his suitcase. The 1920s had turned out to be yet another reason to party, a fascination with drugs. “Perhaps... do you trust me?”

America’s fingers slid against his stomach as he pushed his shirt up. “What do you have in mind?”

“Give me a moment. I need some liquor.”

“That so?”

“It’ll be worth it, love.” America gave him a look but disappeared down the stairs. England hurried over to his luggage. “Muira Puama Bark, damiana... jasmine… vanilla and rose.” Grabbing the small vials and his small mortar and pestle. This was gonna be good. Minutes passed before he was walking downstairs to America’s empty liquor cabinet to grab wine glasses. A bottle had been set out. Pouring the two glasses he dumped the crushed herbs in the glass for America. Aphrodisiacs were such east concoctions.

“I thought you were waiting upstairs.”

“Couldn’t wait.” He held out the glass to America.

America took it, taking a long drink. He wrinkled his nose. “Think it might have gotten a little off.”

“No, it's a perfect wine.” He sipped his own. He had added a small amount of the herb mixture to his own, to help with the stamina but the rest had gone to America. Things would soon be in motion. “Trust me.”

America shrugged and continued with his wine. They leaned against each other, a few words exchanged. A flush made itself known on America's cheeks and if the tugging at his collar and the shifting spoke to anything it was about time. Spinning the wine glass by its stem England hid his smile.

“Everything all right, love?” England asked. The boy would be feeling every little thing by now.

“Are you finished?” America asked, eyes moving over England’s face.

“Not with my wine.” He was also beginning to feel a bit warm. Perfect. He was going to be in much better shape than the other, however. “How about we go finish our drinks in front of the fire?”

“I’ll make sure it’s stoked.” America stood up, leading the way. England found him in the living room, loosening the top few buttons on his shirt.

“Kind of warm in here isn't it?” England watched the movement, fingers on his free hand humming and he dragged them down the other’s spine. He was going to enjoy this if the strangled moan that escaped America was any indication how the night was going to proceed. America turned, running his fingers over England’s arm as if he’d never touched him before. Without a word, America pulled him close and kissed him. His hold on England grew possessive, not allowing him to pull away.

“Well, aren't you being territorial. What's gotten into you?” England held his glass aloft so it wouldn't spill. “You need to finish your wine.” This was amusing.

“I’m always territorial,” America mumbled, finishing off the wine absentmindedly.

England snorted and slipped away to finish his own wine before faking a yawn. “I’m sleepy.”

“No, you don’t want to sleep.” He took the wine glass from England’s hand. “You want to go to bed with me, but not to sleep.”

“What if I wanted another glass of wine?” he whined.

“Too bad.” He edged into England’s space. “I’ve been plenty patient.”

“I think we should go dancing” England rocked against the other, hands snaking around America's neck. “Shall we?”

“I can put on a record. You’re not going to be thinking about anyone but me.” His hands slid down England’s back. “You’re all mine. That was the deal.”

“What if I wanted to go to another speakeasy, Alfred?” England whined, dragging a finger down the flesh exposed by the open buttons.

“Stay an extra day and I’ll take you tomorrow. We’d have to go down to the city.” He leaned over England, catching him off balance. “Too long a trip tonight.” He pressed a kiss to England’s neck, teeth brushing over his skin. “You’re coming to bed with me.”

“What if I was serious.” England breathed “I'm sure you can wait.” He grinned.

“But I’m not going to.” He tipped England backwards, his back pressing into the couch cushions.

“You can't be that desperate you are practically dragging your feet.” England eyed him, maybe he should go make another dose. “One more glass.”

“Nah.” America stole a kiss, fingers going to the rest of the buttons on England’s shirt, fingers quickly growing impatient. The buttons popped free as America pulled.

“Oy!” England grabbed his hands.

America gripped him back. “Kiss me, Arthur.”

“No.”

“Why not?” America pulled England’s hands to his chest. “I feel like I’m burning up. I want you.”

“Then you kiss me,” England whispered “Take some fucking control.”

America pulled back slightly, to look at him. He used his grip on England’s wrists to pull him upwards. They were standing now, but before England could question it, America kissed him. It wasn’t his usual gentle start. It was a demand. _Kiss me. Kiss me, now._ It was as if he had stolen all of the oxygen from England’s mind. He didn’t even realized he’d been walked backwards, until his back met the wall.

“Alfred?” England gasped, turning his head for air.

His mouth found England’s throat, pushing the ruined shirt off his shoulders. He didn’t answer, turning England around. England's eyes widened as his cheek was pressed to the wall, his fingers curled, nails scratching against the paint. He inhaled deeply trying to calm the panic that was making itself known.

“Arthur, you have to trust me too.” He stayed still, his body still warm at England’s back, his grip looser. “I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Just... just keep going dammit!” England breathed.

America’s mouth was warm at the back of his neck. England could hear clothes rustling. America kissed the back of his neck, his shoulders. He began to kiss a line down his spine, hands working at loosening his trousers.

England took a steadying breath. “Not trapped,” he whispered under his breath. He repeated it a couple of more times as he willed his muscles to relax.

America wrapped an arm around England’s middle, pulling him back into his body. He pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, before reaching for England’s chin and turning his face toward him. “Arthur?”

“What did you stop for?”

“I’m not stopping.” He brought their mouths together. He was gentler this time, drawing out a spark that had rekindled in England’s gut. His body rocked against England’s. “There. Not stiff as a board anymore.”

England's groan was frustrated. “I gave you a bloody aphrodisiac you’re not supposed to be sap and sugar. You are supposed to be senselessly horny and ready to fuck me up against a wall or something. Break the couch or something!”

“Ha, I had a feeling you’d done something to the wine.” He turned England around again, pushing his back against the wall. He could see America now, half out of his shirt and trousers lose. His expression was hungry. He pulled his glasses from his face and they ended up on the floor. He kissed England again, hand sliding into England’s opened trousers.

“Apparently I didn't put enough in,” England gasped, fingers threading through America's hair and pulled him down for a kiss.

“Maybe it has to kick in. Did you bring something?” America yanked on England’s clothes.

“Oh, you would know if it had kicked in. Neither of us would be sleeping tonight,” England murmured. “And yes, I brought the stuff to make it.” He sighed, letting his full weight drop against the others. America wrapped his arms around him. A hard surface hit the back of England’s legs and soon he found himself sprawled on top of the dining table.

“You mean... like I’m gonna shatter if I don’t have you?” He leaned up, the table wobbling as he added his weight to it. “‘Cause I’m getting there.”

“Maybe I should make you wait then,” England breathed.

“You really want me to wait?” He kissed him, wood groaning under their weight. He pressed his hips against England’s, moaning against his mouth.

“No, but you need to hurry up!” England barked.

Hitching England’s legs up around his hips, bending him, he pressed his mouth to England’s collarbone. He reached for England’s trousers, still caught on one ankle. He yanked it off and dug his hand into the pocket. “Tell me you’ve got some oil or something.”

“Not down here.” England shook his head, hooking his ankles.

Cursing, America adjusted again. The table creaked. “Can you handle rough? Or plan... B?” He grew breathless, his control slipping as his body slid against England’s.

“Carry me up the stairs, boy,” England purred “You’ve denied me a car ride tonight so you owe me something else to ride.”

England could feel America’s grin against his skin. “Sure thing, babe.” The table wobbled as he pushed back, keeping England’s body pressed against his own as he hoisted him securely into his arms. England's fingers dug into the naked skin on America's shoulders as his teeth latched onto his neck. The younger’s answering groan was all he needed to know that the herbs were finally kicking in.

“A little too rough!” England groaned as America stumbled up the staircase, slamming him into the wall. The younger man’s steps were uneven and unsteady as they stumbled into the room.

“Arthur” the ‘r’ dragged out long and uneven. It seemed to be the only thing that the blue-eyed blond could string together. Sweat slicked skin slid against more, against satin sheets, darkening. Nails scrapped over unblemished skin, forging angry red tracks. The headboard slammed against the wall, dinging the plaster. England could barely catch his breath as he was dragged across crumpled sheets and over the top of long limbs, scratching nails against a strong chest.Pleasure and pain morphed into one cascading surge. The twenties personified.

America’s fingers tangled in England’s hair as they stretched out against each other, panting and shaking. “Give me a little...” his voice trailed off, the strain of the Depression catching up with him again. England chuckled despite himself, curling into America’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are enjoying our fic, please leave us a comment or a kudo! We love hearing from you!
> 
> Apologies on the gap! It's my (shuriken7's) fault! I thought I had posted this chapter a week ago and apparently I didn't actually hit post! I hope you enjoy it and I'm going to *try* to get an extra chapter up for you in the next few days! Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> We're deep in research for Book 5 (covering WW2) and we are really excited! Can't wait to bring it to you!


	17. An Infamous Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England and America are taking a little roadtrip through rural Louisiana when they bump into some members of the infamous "Public Enemy" area.

_May 22, 1934_

_Bienville Parish, Louisiana_

“This is literally the middle of nowhere, Alfred. Are we really that low on petro that we have to stop here?” England lowered his shades as they pulled up in front of a small gas station in front of a diner.

“Oh come on Artie it’s about lunch time anyways we can grab something here. Milkshake and french fries to dip!” A bright white smile flashed at him from behind his own dark shades.

“Honestly” England scowled as a man jogged out to meet their black shiny ride with its top pulled down. Another one of America’s babies. Pulling his feet off the dash where they had been propped for the last hour, England opened the door and got out. He could tell that there was slight burn on his cheeks, whether it be from the wind or from the sun, probably both. A small groan slipped from him as he stretched, back popping. It had been a rather comfortable ride, but, still, one grew stiff.

“Okay, go ahead and order for us I want a burger and fries!” America grinned as he turned to talk to the service boy.

“All right, all right.” England heaved a dramatic sigh and loped around the car, slipping through the parked vehicles to step into the restaurant. The diner was quiet, only a few other patrons sitting at the counter or in booths. It was quiet, but not in the unwelcoming way that some places could be in America’s small towns. England tucked his glasses into his pocket as he came up to the counter and found two garish stools at the end of the counter. Scooting onto one of the stools England nodded his thanks as the waitress walking by slid him a menu with a wink.

“Oh, she thinks you are cute!” A female voice tittered to his left. With an arched brow, England turned to see a young woman on his left. Light brown hair and a perky smile that would disarm any man was perched on the stool, a cap holding back curls. “Howdy! Hello, sorry, but it was so cute and I couldn’t help but comment!”

“Ah, well, thank you.” England smiled, leaning on his forearms as she propped her chin in her hands. The woman took his entire attention, she looked familiar for some reason. He couldn’t quite place her yet. “I am Arthur Kirkland. It’s a pleasure to met you.”

“Bonnie. Bonnie Parker.” Her eyes widened. “What an accent! What is a British man doing all the way down here in Louisiana!?”

“I’m...” He smiled. “I am traveling with a friend.” He shrugged. “He’s American and he is deciding the direction. And what about you? You from around here, Mrs. Parker?” He was surprised to see how much she beamed at the saying of her name. That name rang a bell, but he still hadn’t quite put it together. With the way others in the diner threw looks her way, she must be someone famous.

  
“Nah, not really. I am also traveling, but with my beau, Clyde. We stopped for lunch too. He's at the toilet right now.” She paused as the waitress came back with a notepad.

“Ah, hello again, love. Yes, I would like to order two burgers and fries, one of them a double and then one chocolate milkshake and one vanilla. My friend shall be here in just a moment.” He pointed to the item menus in turn and flashed her a smile. If the woman had been interested before she was certainly interested once he opened his mouth. Thanks to the talkies, American women seemed all the more intrigued by men with accents like Cary Grant.

“It seems you found a friend.” A deep voice sounded behind them as the waitress stepped away. England turned to see a man with a suspicious expression on his face standing behind Bonnie. Arthur felt like he’d seen him on a wanted poster. America had so many gangsters though and with the newspapers making such a big deal out of the situation, it had actually become a fashion trend.

“Oh Clyde! I made a new friend! This is Arthur!” She beamed and England turned, holding his hand out to the other to shake.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. Mrs. Parker has been keeping me company while I await my friend.”

“Mrs. Parker?” He grinned at the woman whose heeled feet kicked lightly.

“Oh,” England coughed as he realized his blunder. “I am sorry I assumed.”

“No, it’s all right. In short time she shall be Mrs. Barrow so it's not far off the mark. Clyde Barrow.” He grasped England's hand and shook it, the jealous line in his shoulders easing as he slipped into the seat beside him. “So, England, huh?”

“Correct.” He smiled as he was pulled into a conversation. It was a few minutes later when America came into the restaurant. He had a little bit of oil on his hands and dust caught up in his hair. He must have been chatting with the station attendant about the car. Every time they stopped it had been the only thing anyone wanted to talk about.

“Artie, you got the fo...” he trailed off. “Hey, can I, uh, talk to you for a sec.” England looked up from Bonnie who was telling an outlandish tale about some chickens when she was a child. The woman had had him laughing to his surprise. Her fiance had the majority of his attention on his own burger and fries, only casting a glance every once in awhile. He wasn’t a very chatty man.

“Ah, there you are, Alfred. Food should be ready anytime.” He gestured to the empty stool beside him. “You should wash up and then take a seat.” He nodded as Bonnie flashed a smile at the blue-eyed male while Clyde merely eyed him suspiciously before turning back to his food as if he had decided the other wasn’t a threat.

“We should probably take it to go, don’t want to lose the light, you know.” America stepped up a little closer, flashing a smile at the waitress. A little furrow crossed his brow as he took a second glance at the pair at the counter.

“Oh, come now. I am enjoying myself and the atmosphere is lively. Bonnie, dear, this is Alfred. Alfred, this is Miss Parker and Mr. Barrow.” He gestured to Alfred.

“Ah! The friend that you are traveling with! We were wondering if you had gotten lost.” She laughed as America and England’s plates were set down.

“I took the liberty of ordering shakes as well. I figured you wouldn’t object, Alfred.” England thanked the woman who turned, loudly chewing on bubble gum.

“Arthur, I need to borrow you for a quick sec.” America hooked a hand on his elbow, tugging him slightly.

“You are going to dirty my clothes.” England scowled and tossed a smile to the woman. “I shall be right back. I cannot wait to hear the rest of that story.” He tossed a glance at his food before sending an impatient look at America before following after him back outside the diner.

“We’re leaving,” America said, pulling England further through the crowd. “Who knows how long it’s gonna take the law to get here.”

“Excuse me?” England scowled, and dug his heels in. “I just ordered food, Alfred, and was having a thoroughly pleasant conversation. What has come over you?”

“I know you read the papers. Look at them one more time.”

England turned and glanced at them. “I see a nice couple who has interesting stories to tell and is sitting next to our food which is getting cold and or melting while we stand here.”

“Barrow, Arthur!” America whispered. “The guy who’s gunned down cops and they’ve been robbing places all over? And she’s the gun moll! It was only a few weeks ago she held off prison guards with machine gun fire so that their friends could escape!” 

“Oh, I know exactly who they are. Took me a moment, but I did recognize them. And she is just as charismatic as the journals say.” England nodded. “But I want to hear the rest of that chicken story and my vanilla shake is going to melt if we don’t go back.”

America’s eyes widened. He stepped back and crossed his arms. “So you get up on me for bootlegging a few years ago, but you’re going to eat lunch with notorious robbers.”

“Alfred, it’s the Bonnie and Clyde!” England said excitedly. “Them! The most romanticized couple in the world right now and we get the chance to have lunch with them at a diner!” 

America leaned against the wall. “This isn’t gonna make a mess if you end up on some news reel?”

“Oh, there is possibly a chance that could happen, but it would be totally worth it.” He smiled. “Come on now I am starving.”

America sighed. “If anyone starts shooting you better stay behind me.”

England snorted and shook his head and moved back through the crowd, tossing an excited glance over his shoulder at America. Following, America pulled out his seat and started in on his food. He kept an eye around them. After all, the Barrow Gang had a few more members that could be anywhere. To England, the food probably tasted better than it actually was because of the excitement to finally meet the couple the whole world had been following in excitement. England tried to ignore the waves of impatience rolling off of America next to him. He nudged America with his foot, he didn’t want this being ruined.

“Where you headed to next?” America asked, when there was a lull in the conversation. “Lots to see in Louisiana is all,” he added, when England kicked him. His accent drawled out, sounding more local immediately.

England eyed him carefully, sipping at his milkshake. There was was that accent, the similarity caused a clench in his gut as he remembered grey eyes instead of blue. He brushed it off and dragged his foot down Alfred's calf. There was that accent that lead to so many memories and so many European obsessions. America gave him a look, a quirk appearing at the corner of his mouth. England had a feeling he’d be hearing more of it later.

“We’re visiting relatives,” Miss Parker said, rubbing gently at her leg as if it pained her.

“Well, that's good.” England glanced down. “Are you quite all right?” He set his cup down.

“Oh, just a little accident.” She glanced over at Clyde and a concerned look crossed his face. “Nothing you need to be concerned about.” She adjusted her seat and started in on another story. Time passed easily before Clyde stood up and announced that they needed to get back on the road before it got too late. Their pleasant goodbye was swift and short and England found himself disappointed that they were about to split ways. It was easy to see how she had managed to become such a darling of the newspapers. They loved her, even as they knew that her story could only end badly. With a pang, England knew that it was inevitable.

“I heard there was some kind of accident. Gas fire or something. That’s why she’s limping,” America whispered as they went out. “It probably ain’t gonna end well. They were more romantic and everyone was a lot more sympathetic before they broke those guys out of prison.” He shrugged.

“Hush you.” England scowled.

“What?” America looked at him for a moment. “Ah, I guess I can see how you liked her.”

“Oh, come now the world is romanticized by their story. It’s uplifting in the light of the depression. I’ve heard them be likened to Robin Hood.” He grabbed his shake again, fiddling with the straw for a moment before taking another sip.

“I don’t remember Robin Hood coming after the rich with a Tommy gun,” America teased. And, well, yeah, gangsters are fun to follow in the papers. I mean, as long as you ain’t the one whose having to deal with the aftermath.” America took a long draw from his own malt. “It’s definitely gonna be a story. You remember that Capone guy right? Got caught a few years ago.”

“Yes.” He leaned back, eyeing him carefully before turning to peer outside at the car that Bonnie and Clyde got into.

“I thought you weren’t too keen on that adventure.”

“I wasn't keen on dealing with Lovino’s jealousy and having... the scheduled socializing disrupted.” He put his glass down to pull his plate of fries back to himself.

America pulled a fry off his plate. “Not that you were held at gunpoint, huh?”

England snorted, picking up his fork to stab at his fries. “I've been held at gunpoint so many times it's not even funny, Alfred. As a privateer it was either gun or blade.” He shrugged. “And sometimes back then I was too impatient so I just let them have a shot before I killed them”

“So what you’re saying is that you want me to go start the car so you can follow around the most infamous couple in America,” he teased, a smile slipping up onto his face.

England paused mid bite. He hadn't even thought of that. He had been thinking about what that accent would sound like in that car while he fucked the other senseless. He turned to America with a wide grin. “What a bloody brilliant idea!”

“I was just joking,” America said, “You seriously want to?”

“After a small detour, yes.”

“A detour to where?”

“Somewhere out in the middle of nowhere, more so than here.” England leaned over, closing the space between them so the words could be for the pair of them alone. “I want to hear what that accent sounds like when it's begging ‘please Arthur’ amidst you scratching at the leather and moaning for me to keep going as I fuck you into the driver's seat of that pretty car on the side of the road. Where at any moment someone could drive by and see the mess I have you in,” he whispered and leaned back to finish his fries. “But the road trip following them sounds lovely as well.”

America took a shaky breath, his cheeks a little pink. “I know a place.” He smiled.

“Is that so, hmmm?” England grinned.

“Finish your fries and we can hit the road.” America took a long draw from his milkshake, watching England out of the corner of his eye.

England rolled his eyes and focused on his food. It didn't take them long before they were heading out of the dining car and back to their own vehicle. “So where to next, love?”

“I told you, I know a place.”

“Well let's get on with it, boy.” England slipped into the passenger size with ease. America flicked the switch on the steering column, the starter whirring to life. The vehicle pulled out of the space with gravel coming up under the wheels. They drove for a little while, air whipping through their hair. The landscape stretched out into fields in all directions and America took a sharp turn down a small dirt road. The crops were sparse, but there was a small wood off to one side of the road. The engine puttured to a stop and the sounds of the wood filled their ears.

“So where are we?”

“Off the beaten path,” America said. “No one around for a fair distance.”

“Well, how are we gonna find Bonnie and Clyde?” England frowned.

America sighed. “‘Cause the ‘family’ that they are visiting isn’t all that far away.”

“Oh, good.” England brightened and stretched with a groan. “This trip is during out to be more exciting than I thought.”

“Seriously?” America made a face at him.

“Whatever do you mean?” England frowned.

“What do you mean more exciting?”

“Who would have thought we would run into THE Bonnie and Clyde!? Of course it makes it that more exciting!”

America chuckled, leaning over and taking England’s tie in his hand. He pulled him forward and kissed him. “Almost makes me want to find them again.”

“I thought you were opposed,” England hummed, kissing him back, fingers wrapping around his wrists.

“I’m not too keen on getting mixed up with the Texas Rangers they reinstated, the FBI, or the Federal Marshals.” Leaning towards him, America reached up to touch England’s cheek. “But if it makes you look like a kid in a candy shop...”

England tensed and a scowl turned his lips downward and he leaned away arms folding over his chest. “I would never be so undignified.”

“Uh huh. You can make a study of composed giddiness. Why not be happy when you’re happy?” America tugged lightly on a strand of England’s hair as he rested his elbow on the back of the seat.

England brushed his hand away with a huff and stared out his window with a sniff, avoiding Americas gaze. “Bollocks.”

America’s fingers brushed the back of England’s neck, smiling as he watched him shift in his seat. “C’mon, Artie, you don’t have to show off. There’s no one watching.”

“I am not showing anything!” He shivered and glared at the other.

“Being uptight doesn’t have to be a national trait.” America caught a cough in his shirt sleeve, but then shifted on his seat, the gear shift knocking into his knee. “Let loose a little.”

Lips pressing into a thin line, England leaned away from the other. “Excuse me?” His voice was low, a warning tone.

America watched him, moving as far over as he could. “You wanna chase gangsters? Or be square?” America leaned back onto his side. “I must say though that I was kinda hoping you’d make good on your suggestion.”

“That was the plan until you started being a twit.”

“I’m not being anything.” The accent that had faded in intensity was drawn out now.

“Liar.” England sniffed. “Now come here.”

Carefully, America shifted out of his seat, sliding into England’s space. It took a little maneuvering, but soon America was settled on England’s lap, tilting his head back to kiss him.

“So this is why you are humoring me.” England hummed.

“Not a big secret. Before you leave we’re gonna spend a whole day at my house so you don’t have to put on clothes.”

“So, this is all I had to do to get what I want?” England grinned, wiggling Americas pants off of him.

“Mutual benefit, babe,” America said, loosening England’s clothes. His hand slid down England’s stomach into his trousers. Soon, the buzz of the insects in the wood and the sound of the small creek were drowned out by heavy breaths and the sound of skin sliding against skin.

***

America pressed a kiss to England’s temple. England’s eyes were closed, taking deep breaths. America watched the rise and fall of his chest, trailing his fingers down through the thin layer of sweat. “Want to get in the stream with me? I’ll protect you from the snapping turtles,” he teased.

“It’s going to be bloody cold,” England argued, turning into the touch.

“Not too bad. Water never really freezes down here.” He ran his nose along his hairline. “Besides, I’ll warm you back up again.”

“Really now?” England pushed into the others space, but rather than initiating another round as normal he instead curled against the other with a noise of contentment, tucked up into America’s personal space. They were out in the middle of nowhere where no one would find them, the weather was perfect, they were full and following no clock. England would take it.

“Yep, got a blanket in the back. We could curl up on that under the trees and we could just enjoy the rest of the day.” America ran his fingers through England’s hair. “We could break out the root beer.”

“Sprawl naked out along the river like a bunch if heathens?”

“Like you’ve never done it.”

“Oh, I've done it, right after a hunt to wash the blood off with the other men and than other times for the hell of it while servants fed me atop turkish rugs”

“Then it’ll be something new. Sun on your skin. Kissing until the cows come home.”

“That I've done.” England searched his memories

A little pull at the corner of America’s mouth. He clearly didn’t like the idea of anyone else in that position. “Not with me.”

“No, not with you.” He shook his head. There had been two others though that came to mind right away.

America sighed. “Forget about it. I’m the only one you’ve done this with.” He slid his hand over England’s chest and over his ribs. Reaching up, England cupped his face.

“Alfred you have to acknowledge that I've been with many others before you but that doesn't diminish anything.”

America looked at him. “I know that. Just be sure no one comes after me, huh?”

England snorted. “No one is stupid enough, besides France, to try and piss me off.”

“Like any of your old lays could take me.” America smiled at him and cupped his cheek in return. “I meant... I want to be the last one.”

England stared at him for a moment before looking away, unable to formulate a response. “I am feeling rather thirsty. You said that you had drinks, yes?”

“Yeah, in the back.” America picked his trousers off the floorboard and slid into them before hopping out of the driver’s side.

“That's good.” England pressed his heels against the dashboard for a moment before popping the door open and slipping out of the car. Ever comfortable with his nudity outside of the public eye. He picked his steps carefully as he made his way towards the water.

America followed a moment later, the promised blanket under one arm. He settled down two brown bottles and flipped the fabric open, covering a space on the grass. “We’ll need to go to a soda fountain. Coca cola has gotten real good lately.”

“What's in it?” England waded into the shallow water.

“Company secret. It’s real sweet though.” America settled the bottles on the blanket and came over to the water. “Guessing it’s not too cold, then?”

“Shove off.” England stopped once the water reached his hips.

Sitting down on the bank, America rolled up his pant legs and stuck his feet in the water. He smiled at England, watching him.

“You going to hang out there?”

“Just enjoying the view.” He stood up and slid out of his trousers again to join him. He splashed in the water carefully.

“And here you said you would protect me from the snapping turtles. Some hero.”

“Just making sure.” America looked at him, a mischievous grin coming onto his face.

“Making sure what?” England eyed him with caution.

“You know, that there ain’t any critters.” He walked past England and began to swim. “They can be sneaky.”

England stared at him. “You asshole!”

“What? Coast is clear.”

England gave him the finger and waded back for the shore. “Unbelievable.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” America sloshed through the water and caught England around the waist before he got too far. “I’ll protect you from snapping turtles as long as you protect me from snakes.” He kissed the side of his neck. “It was a joke, sweetheart.”

“Snakes?”

“I don’t like them.”

England arched a brow. “Of all things... I love snakes.”

“Why?”

“You have to earn their trust and if you betray them they have no problem killing you. They wield so much power and are very diplomatic with it.”

“That’s a fancy way of saying they get in your boots and can bite.”

“So I take it you don't want to come play with my boa constrictor at my menagerie?” He smiled he dragged a finger up Americas sternum.

America shivered. “I’ll pass.”

“Oh come. She is really quite amiable she doesn't bite.” His teeth found the flesh behind America’s ear.

“I see you do though,” America hooked his fingers in England’s hair, tugging his hair back to bring them face to face. He kissed him.

England nipped at Americas tongue shocking the younger blond. “And?”

“And...” America hoisted England up into his arms. “I think I like that much better than a snake bite.”

“Well, that's good.” England leaned back in the water slightly. “Now about that drink?”

“On the shore.” America carried him back towards the blanket. England grinned as he bit that spot behind America's ear once more, dragging his hands. His fingertips and palms buzzed with electricity down the man’s back. America’s gasp was harsh in his ear and he felt the other stumble. Even for a young nation, America wouldn't be ready yet. England would have to force another out of the young male.

England felt the scratch of sand against his back and the splash of the cool water over his skin as America stumbled to the shallow water at the edge of the riverbed, dropping England on his back crouching over him as England snuck his hand between them. He was more than content to watch America's face as the other leaned over him forced into mild pain and ecstasy at England's hand and magic. “Alfred,” he purred, the urge to do this and the action coming out of nowhere.

America’s fingers grasped at his skin. “How do you...” He groaned, pushing his face against the crook of England’s neck.

“Practice,” England drawled and pushed America back to watch his face. Tears gathered at the corners of America’s eyes as a strangled ‘I can’t’ escaped. “Yes, you can,” England coaxed as America trembled with desperation. England watched with fascination as the cocksure young nation was reduced to a shaking pile of begging and small sobs. “Hurts so good,” England hummed, sliding one hand behind the other. He wasn't sure howmany minutes passed before a sliver of concern presented itself as America's back arched sharply with a strangled groan of relief before collapsing into a rumpled heap. “There, there.”

“Fuck...” America breathed, his body half on top of England’s. His hand reached for England’s, lacing their fingers together. Wanting a soft touch after the rough.

“In a way.” England grinned and pressed a kiss to the shell of America’s ear. “Ready to go again?” he whispered, fingers flexing.

“I’m gonna need a minute,” America said, pressing a kiss to England’s throat. His fingers trailed over England’s belly. “I can take care of this though.”

“You don't have the energy for anything,” England snorted. “There is nothing to take care of.”

“You don’t...” His eyes were closed, his body becoming a warm weight in England’s arms.

“And you need to get up because I don't fancy drowning here.”

“Blanket is not too far,” America muttered, crawling off England and making his way to where he stretched out the cloth. England rolled onto his belly, chin propped on his hands.

“Oh, come now what is wrong?”

America stretched out on the blanket. “That was...”

“Was what?” England's ankles crossed in the air

“Trying to find the words, sweetheart.” America gave him a lazy smile. “You gonna come up here?”

“No. I do not wish to distract you from your thoughts, I hope for an answer,” england drawled.

America stretched his arms over his head, hands coming to a rest beside his head. He closed his eyes, as if in thought. It was after a few minutes of silence that England realized he’d fallen asleep.

“You ass,” England sighed and stepped out of the water as a chill began to set in. Walking up the bank he sprawled out on the blanket next to America with a groan as he stretched. He needed to dry off and then they would need to get back on the road. He would regret being in the sun for so long, but that was for later.

***

“Aces,” America said over the sound of the engine as they rumbled further down the road. The sun was beginning to go down.

“Whatever do you mean?” England didn’t bother to open his eyes as he lounged in the passenger seat.

“Earlier. That was aces.”

England frowned. “I am not sure I get it”

“It’s the best hand you can get in poker. Aces.”

England snorted. “Than you must be awful at poker for that was nothing.”

“That was nothing?”

England arched a brow at him. “Just you wait.”

“Well, unless we’re doing it in the car it’ll have to wait. We probably won’t make it to our destination tonight.”

England crossed his arms and stared at him. “What's the matter with you now?”

America looked over at him. “Nothing, just saying we’re gonna be camping out. Gonna have to take a look at the map in the morning.”

“I thought you said their relatives weren't far from here?”

“And I’m not the only one who knows that. I’d bet good money that the cops have it staked out.” America gripped the steering wheel. “If you wanted to find them, they’re probably out in the woods somewhere.”

England stared at him for a moment. “Let's just skip it and go with the original plan.”

“Which one was that?” America asked, pausing at the intersection of two country roads.

“Whatever it was before we ran into them. Let's just do that.”

“You sure?” America asked, when England nodded, he took a turn down the right hand side. The sun was starting to go down and the headlights illuminated the narrow road, flashing off the trunks of the trees.

“Are we headed to a hotel?”

“Better. I’ve got a little place out here.” America smiled at him. “Pretty rustic, but it’s nothing we haven’t done before.”

“Like Yosemite?”

“Yep, kinda like that. We should go back there sometime. There’s some pretty slick accommodations now.”

“Why would I go back to someplace that has been changed so much and is full of people when I liked the place for the isolation?” England stretched, running his hands through his hair.

“Because it’s still beautiful.” America smiled. “But if you want isolation, this place has got it.” They came further down the road, through twists and turns. They came to a small cabin on the edge of the wood. It looked to be one room, the curtains pulled on the windows.

“How many houses do you own?” England gazed at him.

“Just a few, at least one in every state. So... forty-eight? Well, and I built a homestead in Alaska and I’ve got a place in Hawaii. They aren’t states though.” America pulled the car up. “It’s not like you don’t have houses all over.”

“No, but I think you have more than me, even with all of my own colonies.”

“Just think. There’s so many houses you haven’t been to.” America grinned at him and climbed out of the car, going around to the back to get their luggage.

“Hiding away any more Lovinos or Toris’s this time? Who next?” England drawled, slipping out of the passenger seat.

“Worried?”

“That I will have an inconvenience to deal with? Yes.” England sniffed, arms crossing over his chest.

“No inconveniences here.” America walked up onto the porch. “Can you get the door, Artie?”

“You didn’t lock it?” He arched a brow and pushed it open.

“It’s an old door,” America said, coming inside and leaning down to drop the luggage in the entryway. “People around here ain’t too bad.”

“Do you notice your grammar changes as well dependent upon which state?” England asked as he walked into the small living room. There wasn’t much there, aheavy loveseat and an old armchair crowded the living roomfacing a radio on the wall.

“Does it?” America walked over to the loveseat and dropped into it.

“Much more posh when you are further east…” England turned to look at America, once again reminded of grey eyes. That type of reaction had never happened to a nation during its civil war and it baffled England to this day.

“Then you get all hot and bothered by this one.” He grinned at him as England felt heat creep up his neck. “Should use it more often.”

“Or the eastern one,” he countered.

“Doesn’t sound right to be sounding like I’m from Manhattan in a Louisiana wood.”

“I was thinking more Virginia...”

America watched him, head tilted slightly. “The newer one or the Old South one,” he asked, sliding into each.

“The old one,” England admitted quietly. Extending a hand to him, America waited.

“Come here, Arthur.”

England watched him for a moment before taking his hand. “What?”

“I’m going to tell you a story,” America said, accent still rolling off his tongue as he pulled England to sit beside him. When he sat down, America smoothed the hair back over his ear and leaned in close. “About how I feel about you.”

England pulled away to stare at him. “What in bloody hell are you on about?”

“C’mon Artie, I’m trying to be a southern gentleman here. It’s romantic.”

“Well, get on with whatever your little show is then.” England looked away. America pulled him close so he could put his mouth by his ear. With each affectionate phrase, the color deepened in England’s cheeks.

“I let you spend way to much time with that Frog!” England gasped

America chuckled, turning England’s face toward him. “Nope, you’ve seen my moving pictures. I’m pretty good at this stuff.” He pulled England in for a kiss. England scowled against his mouth for moment, struggling between lecturing the man and kissing him. America's own mouth curved upwards when the only sound to escape the Englishman was a little sigh of pleasure as he leaned into the kiss. England leaned fully into the other, intentions clear to the pair of them. That was until they were rudely interrupted by the growling of America’s stomach. “I guess it’s time for dinner,” America said, mouth still pressed close to England’s.

“Apparently.” England leaned away and eyed the sparse cabin. “Did you even pack a supper?”

“I had the folks at the diner make us some sandwiches. Put ‘em in the back of the car while you were talking to the public enemies.” America gave him a quick kiss. “I’ll go get it, left it in the car.”

“All right, hurry along.” England leaned back into the couch. “I'm tuckered.”

It was several minutes before England grew concerned. The car was right out front, not twenty steps away. He should have been back in seconds. Standing up, England walked towards the door. He pushed open the screen and squinted into the growing darkness. “Don’t make any sudden moves or your friend might get hurt,” a woman’s voice said.

England inhaled sharply, spine stiffening. This was all too familiar of a situation. Swallowing, England leaned against the door lazily before his mind clicked over the situation. The voice sounded familiar, his memories flickered to this morning and he coughed in disbelief. “Miss Parker?”

“Mr. Kirkland,” she replied. “We’ll be borrowing your roof tonight. And probably that pretty car of yours.”

“As long as you hand over my partner, Miss Parker, than we shall gladly let you stay the night. I cannot attest to the car as it's not mine to give... although I suppose we can discuss this over supper once you release Master Jones _tout de suite,_ love.”

“You’ll have to take that up with Clyde,” she said. England could see the man in question now, his pistol held levelly at America’s chest. He was far enough that America wouldn’t be able to grab the gun away.

“You can both go back inside the house. Not letting you run off to tell the cops,” Barrow said, directing America away from the car.

“That's work perfectly fine for me.” England nodded to the pair of them and gestured for America to hurry into the house. “Although if you don't let us start supper so I'm going to be less than amiable.” He smiled. “It seems ages since the four of us had dinner.”

“The food is in the back,” America said, frowning as he walked toward England, stopping when Barrow told him to wait.

“Not yet. I don’t know what you’ve got stashed in there.” The bags full of food rustled as he came to the porch and helped Bonnie into the house. They were told to go and sit on the loveseat, clearly visible from the small dining table.

“Well, this is inconvenient.” England heaved a sigh as he settled back on the couch, dragging his silver case from his pocket. He held it up to show it was just a cigarette case when Clyde's eyes bulged and he swung the gun on them again. “Just a smoke, lad.”

“They have nothing here, sweetie, just food.” Bonnie looked up from the bag and then to the pair of them. “No weapons you two?”

“Wasn’t expecting to need one,” America grumbled.

England brushed his thumb over America's thigh in warning and reassurance as his other hand was preoccupied with the cigarette. “So,” England exhaled. “Supper and then bed or do you have more tales for us? If any of them are as hilarious as the chicken one I should be delighted to hear some more.”

“It’s not exactly social hour,” America whispered to him, eyeing the two criminals sorting out the food.

“And it's much safer if they warm to us rather than being super tense while they wave around a gun,” England countered.

“What are you two talking about?” Barrow asked, narrowing his eyes at them. “You clearly know who we are.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone who doesn’t. Those pictures were quite popular.”

“I don’t smoke cigars, but I wouldn’t mind a cigarette,” Bonnie said, hopping over to the couch on England’s side. She was refuting the picture that had been all over the papers, her with one foot up on the bumper of a car, cigar in her mouth, handgun raised to the air. She smiled at England.

“Of course.” England clicked open the case and offered one, lighting it after she plucked one up. “But you two have weapons when we do not, so what would be the point of fighting back? I'm on vacation visiting a family friend so the less bumps on my itenary the better, Mr. Barrow. I do detest when my schedule is marred.”

“Are Brits always like this?” Barrow asked to no one in particular. He started in on one of the sandwiches.

“Whatever do you mean?” England got to his feet, striding into the kitchen.

“Hey! Who said you could walk around?”

“You didn't say I couldnt.” England arched a brow. “I'm getting something to drink.”

“You try anything funny and this guy is getting one.” Clyde settled the pistol on the table close enough to grab it quickly.

“I suppose.” England shrugged and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet and filled them from the tap. This could go two ways. “Shooting him would really have the cops on your tails.” He waltzed over to the table and snagged two sandwiches as well. “Goodness Alfred you brought enough to feed a huge family.”

“The cops are always two steps behind.”

America took the sandwich from England’s hand, not taking his eyes off the other two. “Gotta make sure we didn’t run out,” he replied to England. He glanced up at him for a moment, a question about his plan in his eyes.

“Yes, but when they realize you have a statesman and a foreign diplomat in danger two steps behind won't cut it. That will be international forces involved now.”

Clyde looked at Bonnie. “Do you think they might be worth something, Sweetheart?”

England turned to offer a glass of water to Bonnie and he was pleased to see the woman had paled. “Maybe not darling.” She glanced at the pair. “You don't seem to be bluffing, Mr. Kirkland.” 

“I am not.” England smiled “Master Jones is a member of the presidential cabinet so if something happens that would probably result in the big wigs to get involved and if something happens to me, well, back home I am not Mr. It is in fact Lord Kirkland. The British government and possibly Canadian government would also be involved. A whole international scandal be it that.” He smiled. “So, that begs the question. Who is more dangerous in this particular situation?”

“Do you know what happened to the last government official we kidnapped, Kirkland?” Clyde asked, not looking phased at all. They both seemed more tired than anything on closer inspection.

“Sadly, yes, but you weren't in danger of international governments getting involved.” England shrugged. “You have two options really. Shoot me and Jones or something of the like. Or eat the full meal and allow Miss Parker a good night's sleep in an actual clean bed.”

His brow furrowed. “What are you implying?”

“That you could utilize a good bed for a full night's sleep, a hot shower, and food on the way out with no consequences. Or you can harm one and you better fucking...” He paused and glanced at Bonnie. “My apologies for the language, Miss Parker, or you harm one or both of us and all international hell will break loose after you. Your choice.”

“Clyde... safety does... well, sound better.”

“If my girl asks,” he said, smiling at her. It was a genuinely affectionate expression.

“So we’re just giving them my house for the night, that’s the plan?” America whispered as England sat back down.

“You have any better ideas, love?” he muttered.

“Wait ‘till they fall asleep and get the hell out of here?”

“They have a functional car they can chase us down,” England murmured

“I can pull a few hoses.”

“Or just let them leave and be done with it.”

“This is so not what I had planned, babe.” America frowned, settling into the couch. “I guess let’s get on with it.”

The night wore on, America fidgeting beside him. Eventually, the pair left, Clyde waving the ignition cable of America’s car. A threat if they thought to take theirs. If they were going anywhere, they were going on foot. “I could do it, get us out through the dark.”

“Or we just sleep.” England stretched out on the couch.

America gave him a look. “I’m keeping watch.”

“Just sleep, Alfred,” he yawned, crooking his finger to him.

“You’re not worrying about them seeing?”

“I'm just saying lay down not lay with me.” He sat up stretching and pushed over to his feet. Lazily, he made his way to the overstuffed armchair, curling up inside of it. “Good night, Master Jones.”

America grumbled a good night and lay down on the love seat, feet dangling off the end.

***

It was early morning when the revving of an engine woke them both. England stretched out with a groan. It wasn’t America’s car however. A little magic in the lines would stop a car from starting for awhile. “Oh, I have a crick in my neck.”

America pushed up from the love seat as if sleeping in such a strange position hadn’t phased him at all. “They’re pulling away,” he said, peeking through the curtain.

“Well, good. As long as they left the tea. That doesn't sound like your car.”

“It’s not, but we might have to take a walk anyways. Looks like one of my wheels is flat.” America came over, leaning over the back of the chair and wrapping his arms around England.

“We can fix it.” England shrugged with a yawn. He wrapped his arms around Americas’ neck, the want of sleep sliding his eyes shut again.

“Gonna change the blankets... think I’ve got more...” America kissed the top of his head. “Then you can tell everyone you slept somewhere famous criminals did.”

“Sounds lovely.” England didn't release his grip.

“Gotta let me go,” America murmured, offering him a sleepy kiss when England turned his face up towards him.

“Never.” England sighed, his usual guards down with his half conscious state.

“Well, me neither.” America’s arms squeezed him a little tighter.

“Oy,” England muttered and within moments was asleep against the other. America smiled, gathering up England in his arms and settling him on the loveseat so he could stretch out. When England awoke he was wrapped up in clean smelling blankets pressed against America’s side.

At a diner later that day, they got the news. The Texas Rangers had finally caught up with the two.

“Well, that's unfortunate” England sighed, stabbing at his salad with a frown. He ignored the look that America shot at him. England shrugged, taking a bite and chewed thoroughly, giving himself time to think. “They are going to be those people that history never forgets and certainly romanticizes. I’m glad I actually got to meet them, even despite the whole being held up in our cabin.” He watched the hustle and bustle of the diner around them. “Bonnie and Clyde are going to go down as one of your most famous couples in history, Alfred.”

“Most infamous couples anyway. Ready to hit the road?”

“Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Told you another chapter was coming up soon! Otakuashels and I are busy working on the opening chapters of Book 5 and we're soooooo excited. Four more chapters of Book 4 still coming your way as things turn toward the end of the 1930s and a pretty drastically changing world.
> 
> Next up: England is avoiding politics. America is happy to let him. This couldn't possible go wrong, right?


	18. Planes, Hookahs and Divorcees Oh My!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goobers sorry for the long wait, I have no idea where the time went! (This year has been all sorts of wonky) But here is the chapter! Thanks for kudos and comments everyone we are still plugging away, getting ready for the climax!

November 6, 1935  
England

“Bloody Brilliant!” England shouted over the engine as he pulled his cap off and stood up in the cockpit. His scarf whipped at his cheeks, new leather gloves creaking as he gripped the around at his cheeks Grass, still green from the onslaught of late fall rain was trampled by the flight pilots, his personal royal guard escort, the recorders and a small team of engineers. The plane thrummed and grumbled as if upset with being forced onto the ground and no longer allowed to be up in the air. As if the machine knew exactly where it was supposed to spend its time. The Hawker Hurricane was a single - seat British fighter aircraft designed by Hawker Aircraft Ltd. for service with the Royal Air Force (RAF).

In the hands of Hawker's chief test pilot, flight lieutenant George Bulman, the prototype K5083 first took to the air. In subsequent flight tests, Bulman was assisted by two other pilots; Philip Lucas flew some of the experimental test flights, while John Hindmarsh conducted the company's production flight tests. As completed, the prototype was equipped with ballast to represent the armament of the aircraft before the final armament of the multi-gun wing was accepted. Stepping out England walked out onto the wing, dressed in Officer Royal Air Force garb to protect against the brutal wind. A long green overcoat was hugged tight to his body with an over the shoulder leather belt. Puffy pants tucked into high, toe-capped boots. He had demanded the second flight after the test flight and he had not been disappointed. He preferred sailing to flying but that had been thrilling! He squinted against the afternoon sun as he took note of a second car that had pulled up alongside his own. A small flag with stars and stripes on the antenna identified it as the vehicle of the American embassy. “Alfred?”

“Dude, why didn’t you invite me?” America said, walking up to the plane and beginning to circle around it. He seemed to take in every inch of it, pausing to look at some feature under the wing. He looked up at England. “I want a turn.”

“Sorry but that's not happening you haven't been authorized to fly her and we need to take it back to the garage” the head mechanic stepped forward shaking his head as England sat down to scoot over the edge of the wing, dropping down onto the grass with a grunt.

“Come on! She looks like fun.” A pout slid onto America’s face as a mechanic climbed in to begin moving the plane towards the hangar.

“she's thrilling is what she is” England breathed, pulling off his gloves “ Good morning Alfred, I didn't know that you were coming”

America’s smile, vibrant a moment ago, slipped away. “We need to talk about Kiku.”

“whatever do you mean?” he gestured for the other to follow him as he made his way back to the cars. “perhaps you can join me I was looking to a spot of lunch. I'm famished” he smoothed his hand over his hair.

“About the fact that he’s pulled out of the Washington Treaty. He’s building his fleet again. I’ve got the news that there is a lot of new development.”

“ah yes, that. Slippery git isn't he? He shall have to bend soon. Now, are you hungry? Anything sound particularly delectable?” he hands his cap and gloves off to a man who hands him his dress uniform hat instead which England puts on. 

“I can always eat.” America followed him. “And what do you mean by ‘that’? You’re not worried about Singapore, Australia, any of the rest of it?”

“simple. He goes after them and I go after him.” he nods his driver who grabbed the car door and England slipped in the back “well hurry up then sit down” he jerked his head for America to follow. “I know this lovely little cafe that serves the best cake in London”

“That’s it.” America didn’t seem convinced. “After all the deals we made after the Great War, you’d just jump into one?”

“truthfully Alfred I really just don't care right now” England sighed leaning against the seat as his driver jumped into the front and started up the car, pulling onto the road.

“Then let’s talk about what’s going on with Ludwig. That Hitler guy is breaking treaties too and he’s bad news.”

“Let's talk about that at another time” England crossed his legs, eyes closed as he leaned his head back against the seat.

“You won't let me fly your brand new fighter plane and you don’t want to talk about fascists. What do you want to talk about?”

“giving me a few moments to process the flight I just had and a bloody hello would be nice for starters” England snapped.

“Okay, tell me how she flew. You let me fly her and I’ll give you a ride in a P-30. You can be my co-pilot.” 

England heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose “hardly a fair trade” he glared at the other “still waiting on that hello”

“Hello, Arthur.” He barely took another breath before blurting out. “You should really let me fly her, you know I’m a good pilot.”

England snorted “that does not constitute hello Alfred Jones”

Out of view of the driver, America leaned over and kissed England’s cheek. “How’s that?”

“no” turning he pulled America into a kiss. America hooked his fingers into the front of England’s uniform and tugged him closer.

“Better?”

“same cafe my lord?” the driver asked peering at them in the mirror.

“Yes. Thank you George” he nodded and pulled America into a short kiss. “there better”

Tugging on England’s jacket to straighten the wrinkle he’d put there, he smiled at him. “What’s this place again?”

“it's just a small cafe tucked away from the American tourists” he teased, winding his fingers with the others.

“You say that like it’s a good thing. What do you have against Americans?” His voice was playful, fingers sliding against England’s.

“a list a kilometer long Master Jones” his grin turned wicked as he leaned in to whisper “and plenty of things to hold against you in my chambers tonight” leaning back he scoots away with the proper amount of space between them. “so what do I owe the pleasure of this visit”

“Strengthening ties.”

“oh really? Then I assume we will need to convene in my study then”

“We can start there. We really do need to talk about the treaties. We should be on the same page.”

“tomorrow. Today is my day off”

“Deal.” America took England’s hand briefly as the car came to a stop. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“well this is the plan” England sniffed and motioned for America to scoot out “pick us up in about an hour George, I'll be headed to the palace after that, I have other visiting nations as you know” he smiled as the man nodded, pulling away after they were on the pavement.

“Who else is here?” America asked, climbing out of the car. He held open the door as England climbed out. He patted the door to let the driver know to pull away as England led the way into the small restaurant.

England eyed him for a moment “Vicente”

“How’s the dictatorship going?” America asked.

“don't be rude Alfred” England chided as they stepped inside and sat at a small table near the window.

“Is it rude when it’s true?”

“he shall be joining us for supper, or shall I say you shall be joining us” England thanked the waitress who arrived at the table with two cups of tea in hand.

“What’s he want?” America said. “You realize his boss is a fascist.”

“he came to socialize Alfred” he lifted the cup to take a sip.

“A guy who cracks down on communists is having a social call with a fascist? Or are you rethinking what Karl Marx said back in the day?” He scooted the teacup away from his place. “Miss, can I get some coffee?” he called to the waitress. 

“I was thinking Vicente is one of my oldest friends and he provided me with a good ride the other day that was much needed since you hadn't been to visit in a good while”

America frowned. “You know I’ve been busy.”

“I do know that” England nodded as the coffee was brought to the table and the waitress left before bothering to take their order “however Vicente arrived and I was utilizing that”

Taking a long sip of his coffee, then wrinkling his nose from the lack of cream and sugar, America sat it back down. “I thought you were way past that.”

“past what?” England expression filled with confusion.

America colored. “We can’t talk about it in public.”

England leaned over the table to close the space “whatever are you getting on about”

“You taking a ride with Vicente. I’m the only one you should be riding,” America mumbled.

England stared at him before bursting into laughter as the waitress arrived with two large plates stacked high with sausage, bacon, eggs, toast and grilled tomatoes. English breakfast. “thank you love” England managed as the waitress set their plates down and whisked away once more.

“I’m glad you find your infidelity funny.” America picked up a piece of bacon and shoved it into his mouth. He didn’t look at England as he chewed.

England choked on a bit of toast and stared at him, his voice clipped “I am sorry if I offended you by going for a ride with Vicente. I'll let the stable hands know that I will only go horseback riding by myself or with you”

Staring at him, America laughed. “Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”

“I did say that” England scowled, “I said we went riding”

“You said he ‘provided you with a good ride,’” America said. “Clarification would have been good.”

“maybe that was on purpose,” England said lightly stabbing at his eggs.

“Why?” America asked, confusion on his face. “To make me jealous or something?”

“you still don't trust me when I said I was taking no others to bed when I said I wasn't”

America stabbed at the sausage on his plate. He chewed on England’s accusation for a moment. “Can you make me a deal?”

“that depends”

“On?”

“on what it is”

“I’ll trust that you don’t lie to me about them as long as you don’t try to use them to get under my skin.”

“fine" England clutched the fork tightly, anger turning down his mouth.

America bumped England’s foot with his own beneath the table. “Thank you. This is tasty by the way.”

England nodded, poking gently at his food, his appetite no longer with him. That had been a stupid move and he knew it. But he needed to check, it made England nervous, America's was a young and growing nation, strong emotions could come and go and it terrified him. He hadn't thought this small nudge would backfire on him.

America coughed, catching it in a napkin. “You’d think it would stop.”

“someday love” he murmured.

“Sooner rather than later.” America looked up at him. “What do you want to do after breakfast?”

“I was going to head back to the palace. Paperwork and all that” he set his fork down.

“I thought you said today was your day off.”

“well yes,” he stared at the plate, mind racing and sluggish all in the same moment.

“You could show me around. Haven’t been to London in a while.” 

“I'd need to go home and change...I am technically not supposed to parade around in uniform”

“The palace or your house?” It was clear from America’s voice there was one he preferred. His eyes went over England’s uniform.

“Either or I suppose”

“Your house. I like it better there.”

“it's a bit further out but alright. Are you ready?” he finally looked at America.

America looked at England’s plate. “You barely touched your food.”

“are you still hungry. You can have it” he pushed the plate towards America “I wasn't as hungry as I thought”

“If you’re not going to eat it.”

***

“You’re being quiet,” America said as they pulled up to England’s house.

“I just have a lot on my mind. Thank you, George. I'll drive back to the palace. You have the rest of the day off enjoy the weather.” he smiled at the driver who grinned and lost no time in pulling the car out of the drive. Watching the car drive away for a moment, England turned and walked up to the steps. “help yourself you know where everything is. I'm going to change I'll be right back down.

America stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching as England went up. When he neared the top, America bounded up the stairs after him. He caught England around the waist and pulled him back to him. “You could tell me what’s on your mind. I’m gonna invent some doohickey that can guess what people are thinking someday, but I can’t do it yet.”

England’s fingers curled around America's forearm and he sighed “that's absurd.”

“Maybe, but so was a fixed-wing airplane.” America leaned against him. “So, you gonna tell me?”

“no” England dropped his head against the taller man's shoulder

“I can shoulder the weight you know.”

“honestly” England rolled his eyes at the terrible humor. “no. My thoughts are my own”

“Sure you won’t consider it?” America’s fingers brushed against England’s cheek and turned his face so they could look at one another. His eyes were concerned.

“I'm fine Alfred” he shook his head

America leaned close to kiss him gently. “Okay.”

England leaned away slightly at first but after a moment accepted the kiss “thank you”

Releasing him slowly, America stepped back. “I guess I’ll go back downstairs.”

“alright make yourself at home” 

Disappointment crossed America’s face, but he went. His footsteps were heavy on the steps, but he soon quieted somewhere in the parlor.

England heaved a sigh, he told the other to make himself at home and the other clearly misunderstood. Heading down the hall he slipped into his water closet, uniform hanging on the hooks behind the door as he started the oversized clawfoot tub. Bathing for him and Alfred had almost turned into his and Americas own personal language.

He’d almost given up hope that America was going to figure it out when he heard the door to the bathroom open. Coming over, America leaned on the edge of the tub, his shirtsleeves rolled up. He touched England’s damp hair. “I’ve missed you. I haven’t said that yet.”

“no you hadn't” England looked up at him “too enamored by my plane. I suppose I can't blame you”

“I still think you should let me fly her,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt. “My pilots are the best.”

“ I don't know if that's such a great idea” England lifted a leg out of the water as if to inspect him “it has been a long time since I've watched you handle anything”

“I can handle plenty of things.” He smiled at England as he worked on his trousers.

“are you sure?” England questioned “actions do speak louder than words”

“Working on that, babe.” America stepped into the water, settling down at the other end of the tub. He reached for England’s legs and pulled him closer, hooking his knees on either side of his hips. He cupped England’s cheeks and kissed him.

“you're going to get water on the floor” England protested against his mouth but returned the kiss.

“Don’t care,” he murmured, kissing him again. They were soft, exploring, caring. Sweet.

“good cause you can clean it up then” England's fingers carded through Americas hair as he leaned into the others space, between the soft kisses and the warm water he couldn't help but relax against the other.

As England curled against his chest, America pressed a kiss to his hair. He breathed softly, taking him in. “Did you change your soap? You smell different.”

“probably a while back” he shrugged, eyes sliding shut “different in a bad way or good way?”

“You still smell good, just not used to it. Gonna have to stay close the whole time I’m here so I can adjust.”

“I guess I can oblige if it's for a worthy cause. I have to keep visiting dignitaries happy do I not?”

“It’s vital to the continued operation of the world.” America pressed another kiss to his hair.

“well blast it all. I better offer my full services then. American diplomats have become the hardest to please after all”

“Full attention.”

“needy. So American” England sighed, all languid limbs as he slipped onto the lap of the other “full services”

***

America was determined to keep England in his arms. They were sitting, wrapped up in a blanket, in front of the fire. There was some radio program on, the two characters engaged in a conversation that set them both to laugh. 

“we are going to have to go to the palace sometime you know. Say hello and all that”

“Business is for tomorrow.” 

“if only-” the sound of the wheels of a car crunching up the unpaved drive interrupted them and England heaves a sigh. “if only a miracle would happen” England finished his sentence.

Reluctantly releasing him to answer the door, America stood up and stretched. He hovered in the doorway to the parlor as England reached the front.

“what the-" England pulled the door open and stopped in shock. On his doorstep next to his driver, George was two young girls, one of ten and one of six. “Lilbet, Margaret? Whatever are doing here?”

“you promised to take us out for ice cream” Margaret stared up at him with the righteous indignation that only children have. England glanced to George who shrugged sheepishly. A princess gets what a princess wants.

“I completely forgot...but you should have had your mother phone or something. Not force poor George to drive you all the way out here” England sighed. “George I shall take them from hear and phone their parents.” he ushered the two girls in who stopped at stared at America, gluing themselves to England's legs when they saw him.

America waved at them. “Howdy, girls.” He raised an eyebrow at England.

“who is he,” Elizabeth asked, eyeing the taller blonde 

“is he like Uncle Matthew and Uncle Francis?” Margaret blurted as the door closed. England turned around.

“Well yes,” England nodded “this is-”

“Master Jones correct? The one Uncle Francis showed us a photograph of”

“Yes”

“Francis is showing off pictures of me?” America asked. He crouched down so he was eye level with the two girls. “Yep, I’m Alfred F. Jones. And if I had to guess you two are Prince Bertie’s daughters.”

England pinched his nose as Elizabeth frowned “that is not how Father is to be addressed, Master Jones”

“Except he told me I could call him that.”

“except I've never met you so that means little”

“Elizabeth!” England warned “that was rude”

“Arthur can vouch for me, I’ve known him my whole life.” England stared at America. He didn't remember George telling the nation that at all. 

“What? You call him that.”

“I did when he was a child”

“Well, I think that was the last time I met him.”

“that sounds about right” he looked down at Margaret pulled at his trousers “Alright alright I'll take you two out like I promised.”

“Ice cream?” America said, sounding as excited as the children.

England rolled his eyes “honestly...yes yes come on” he grabbed his shoes “let's get going shall we?” in no time at all they were all situated in England's car and they zipped down the dirt road. Elizabeth continued to stare at the back of Americas head from the back seat.

“She’s kind of intense for a kid, how old is she?” America whispered to England.

“I am ten years old thank you very much” Elizabeth answered and England chuckled.

“Ten years old, huh? Practically grown up.” 

“Not really, but close enough” she sniffed, blinking against the wind that whipped strands of hair across her face. “So who are you?”

“I’m like Matt and Francis. I bet you can guess, being ten.”

“Yes but I see them a lot, I’ve never seen you’

“Well, let’s see if you can put it together. My country also speaks English, but hasn’t...” He paused when England coughed. “You get something in your throat?”

“Victoria” England reminded him.

“What about her?” America looked genuinely confused.

“remember the last time you thought it would be- oh never mind” England sighed “Lilibet, Margaret this is the personification of the United States of America”

“Oh come on, Arthur, they could have guessed that.”

“but why to spend the time guessing when you could have just simply provided the information “Elizabeth pointed out.

“Because that’s not nearly as fun,” America said.

“and that's where we are leaving that” England interrupted as both girls opened their mouths to comment. They pulled into the narrow streets of London, ambling along with the mixed vehicle and foot traffic until the wedged themselves into an open spot in front of a small ice cream shop that was busy with people despite the cooler weather. “so ice cream. What flavors does everyone want?”

“Chocolate!” America shouted. England couldn’t help but smile as the girls chimed in with their own requests. As ice cream cones were consumed, they slowly warmed up to America as he joked and told them a story about a sled dog that had saved a town of children by bringing medicine in the wilds of Alaska. They had crammed themselves into a small corner of the painted shop and England merely listened as he ate away at his own vanilla cone. His eyes made its way to the people busy out on the sidewalk. His people. His people who were going to be seriously affected by the neglects and breaking of treaties hear. 

 

“Artie?” America said, breaking into England’s thoughts. “Elizabeth had a question for you.”

“ah yes sorry” England looked back to the table.

“She doesn’t believe me about our first house.”

England frowned “what do you mean?”

“How small it was and that you weren’t quite sure about the timber in Virginia so the house in Jamestown in the early days always leaned a little.”

“well yes it was a bit on the small side but Master Jones was terribly afraid of the dark and the ghosts so he clung to my side like paste so there was no need to build it any larger. No need to waste space”

“I was not!” America protested. “He had a terrible sense of direction and would get lost all the time.”

England snorted “fine Master Jones you can join me this evening at the seance I plan to attend”

“That stuff fell out of fashion decades ago.” America turned a little pale.

“out of fashion yes but that doesn't mean they don't happen” England smiled “I'll send word ahead so that they know to expect another”

“No way! We have an existing engagement.”

“such as?”

“Not going to a seance.” America crossed his arms. “We weren’t talking about ghosts, Artie.”

“so you are scared of ghosts and the dark” the two princesses said in unison.

America threw England a look. “Let me tell you about the first time he almost burned the place down with his cooking.”

“he's done that in the palace kitchen more than once” Elizabeth sniffed and England scowled

“don't be rude Lilbet”

“He’s just mad that we changed the subject.” The girls giggled until England gave them a stern look.

England eyed the sticky hands and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it over “We need to take you two back to the palace before your mother has a fit”

“Do we have to Arthur?” Margaret said.

“Yes. But remember we are going out riding tomorrow” he smiled “And I am sure master Jones will attend us”

“I can show you how to ride like a real cowboy.”

England groaned and pinched his nose “Come on girls. We need to get you back.”

“Will you still be coming to supper?” Elizabeth asked and the two small eyes flicked to America. “Uncle Vicente is coming will you be as well?”

America’s face dropped a little. He eyed England for a moment. “I’m coming to dinner.”

England stared back at him in warning “Sounds delightful”

“Yep!” America gave him an innocent grin.

***  
England was thankful for the brief moment of quiet. Margaret and Elizabeth had convinced America to go meet their horses today so that they might recognize him tomorrow. Standing on one foot at a time England divested himself of his boats in the center of his parlor, coldly lit by weak November sun. He shed the uniform with careless grace across the ornate rug that ran up to the door of his bedroom. He would pick them up later. His mind was full and buzzing. America’s statements promptly after his arrival had struck a nerve that England had briefly lost while up in the air. All the events did not bode well for the world. Something was going to happen. Dragging his nails over his scalp England sighed, fingertips tracing his own jawline, his neck and done over his collar bone, meeting minuscule scars, faded from so long ago they hardly showed. Funny. 

He never retained any scars from his personal battles. All the times that he had been shot, struck by an arrow or run through with a sword. They all faded away within weeks. However, the battles and spread of his empire were forever marked on his body. Toes wiggling in the plush rug around his four-poster he hummed again, picking up the small decanter on his bedside. Not filled with liquor but rather rose oil. Pulling the stopper he tipped it carefully, pouring some onto his hand. Chin to toe he had taken up the habit of covering himself in it. For an island nation, to his disgruntlement, he found himself prone to dry skin. It killed two birds with one stone really, he didn’t have to bother with the perfumes that France was so overly fond of, he took care of the dry problem and there was always something of distinguished air about smelling of roses. Rubbing his hands together England rubbed his fingertips just behind his ears and down over his throat, collar bone, shoulders, chest, waist, hips, thighs and back up to his buttocks. It was the deep inhalation of breath that caused him to pause. He peered over his shoulder to see Alfred staring at him from the doorway. “Finished with the horses have you?”

A flush spread across America’s face, but he didn’t look away. Trying to look casual, he leaned against the door, pulling off his hat and swinging it around one finger. “The girls got called in to wash up.” He coughed. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“you probably should as well” England continued on with his daily ritual, turning forward once more. “supper is not going to be any big affair but you should change and rid yourself or travel dust at least”

“I think you already washed away a lot of the dust earlier this afternoon.” England could hear his footsteps against the floor until they went silent on the carpet. He sank down onto the edge of the bed, leaning back on his hands. “So, by no big affair does that mean I don’t have to wear a dinner jacket?”

“Oh yes. I forgot about bath” England paused, his hands on his ankles.” no, no dinner jacket. We aren't are just dining with George and his family. The King is away on business so it's all going to be rather simple.”

“I don’t know if your Royals are ever simple.” The quilt rustled as America shifted forward. His fingers drifted against the back of England’s neck and across the tops of his shoulders. “Shame your boss isn’t gonna be there though, he knows how to throw good parties.”

“Hush you.” England scolded with no heat behind the words. He shivered beneath the light touch. “His majesty is busy”

“Regarding the business, we aren’t talking about until tomorrow?” As England began to straighten, America’s hands slid down his arms. He pulled one of England’s hands towards him, pressing a kiss into his palm. “It was nice of you, you know, to take the kids out for ice cream.”

“We have an outing regularly” England murmured, stepping closer to America “its always been that way”

America hummed, his other hand making its way over England’s ribs and down to take a possessive grip on his hip. “I could pull some strings. I think I can get a reel of one of the new Mickey Mouse cartoons, they make ‘em in color now.” He leaned into England’s hand.

“Really? The girls would love that. We could set up a whole showing for the palace. Later in the evening when the servants are done with their work.” England smiled, casting a glance down at the hand on his hip “Whatever is on your mind?”

“Then I’ll make it happen.” He pulled England a little bit closer. “And what I’m thinking is that you smell good and are really soft right now. I couldn’t not touch you.” 

“Ah” England hummed, pulling his hand free to wind his arms lazily around America's neck before settling into America’s lap. “Well, I suppose that's fine. That is the point after all” 

“To get my hands on you?” America teased. He pressed his nose into the crook of England’s neck, pressing a kiss to his skin. His fingers pressed into England’s lower back. “And...” He leaned back onto the bed, pulling England with him. “I think I’m gonna keep you to myself for a few.”

“If you continue with that backrub you can keep me all the way to supper.” England sighed softly “I hope your bags were delivered hear because we shall be staying here for the night”

“Hmmm, yeah, in my room.” He rolled them onto their sides as his hands continued to roam over England’s back as his mouth moved over his jaw.

“and what is wrong with mine?” England hummed, loving the quiet attention.

“Nothing. I was told by your manservant that ‘for appearances’ sake’ it must be delivered to my assigned rooms first.” He chuckled against England’s skin. “You’ve got another one that doesn’t approve of me.”

“ah, you meant just your bags. Well yes, that's how we have always done it” he slumped against the other “it is for appearance sake” he stretched, back popping.

“You’d think they’d expect it though. I always end up here anyway. Even when we weren’t...” He kissed him, drawing his fingers over his ribs. 

“having sex?, yes I guess that is true” he breathed against America's mouth, leaning into the touch. “I don't ever want to be at war with you again so that shouldn't ever be a thing”

“And here I was planning an invasion.” The joke clear in his voice. He rolled slightly, leaning over England, mouth moving back to his collarbone. “I think we’re past that.”

“good” it came out almost in a purr, stretching once again.

“Good.” America rolled England over, fingers working on his muscles as he pressed kisses to the back of his neck.

“if you are trying to get in my good grace's its working” England groaned.

“I’m always in your good graces.” 

England snorted “if you say so” he buried his hands beneath the duvet that had been knocked loose.

America snorted and continued the massage. “I’m gonna smell like you all night now.” 

“you're the one who got in my space” England look over his shoulder.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing sweetheart.” He kissed England on the cheek. 

“are you going to tell me it was not on purpose?”

“What do you mean?” America dropped down on his side so he could pull England back to him and draw him into a kiss.

“smelling like me when we have supper with Vicente?”

“Didn’t cross my mind until just now. You’ve got a point though.” When England made a face at him, he pulled him close again. “I came in this room and saw you like that and like I said, I couldn’t not touch you. This...” He kissed him again. “Is about you.”

“glad to hear it” England murmured between soft kisses “we don't get this very often”

“We should.” America ran his fingers through England’s hair. 

“we should and we can are two very different things” England yawned. November had been a busy month. He had been kept up several nights in a row with Edward's attempted marriage to his American divorcee.

“Hmmm, guess we better enjoy it while we can.”

“yes, yes” England allowed himself to curl against the other, head tucking up beneath America's chin, completely at peace with the moment. That was all it took for him to fall asleep. America listened to the quiet breathes from the smaller man against him. All barriers down, an easy expression on the Englishman's features. He wasn't sure how long it was before a voice broke the silence.

“he doesn't always sleep so unguarded” Portugal was leaning against the doorframe, arms casually crossing over his chest.

“These are England’s rooms,” America said, frowning at him and pulling the blanket up over England to cover him up. “Are you lost or something?”

“I know these are his rooms, I am also staying in one of his guest chambers. I came looking for him to ask him about our plans for this evening”

“Dinner. Two hours from now with the rest of us.” 

“I was more interested in the game of cards he had planned for him and I afterward.” his eyes slid over England's form. “didn't realize you would be attending”

“Cancelled, he and I have a business to discuss.” He adjusted the blanket, making sure England was hidden from view.

“ I will wait until Arthur decides that if you don't mind. why are you being so hostile” Portugal eased into the room to lean against the bedpost.

“It’s not exactly a good time,” America said, gesturing at their position on the bed and England’s state of undress. “Not interested in a third party.”

Portugal's nose wrinkled in disgust “ no thank you”

“Great, we agree on something.” England stirred in America’s arms pressing himself closer to his body. “Arthur is resting so why don’t you talk to him later?”

Portugal arched a brow and instead settled onto the bed, watching England sleep.

America frowned. Why couldn’t this guy take a hint? “What do you want?”

“after so many years it's amusing to watch you still be so hostile”

“You wouldn’t be hostile if our positions were reversed?” America shot back. “And don’t act like you don’t have opinions on the Spanish Civil War. Our people are on opposite sides.”

 

“no, actually I wouldn't. I've been Arthur's side piece before. He comes and goes like the tide. Eventually”

“That’s not what this is. If you’re waiting for him you’ll be waiting forever.”

“that's what I thought too. But being on opposite sides of war does things” he eyed America “Tell me, Alfred. Can you truly tell me you have his heart?”

America looked down at England. “That’s none of your business.”

“I didn't think so”

“You don’t know what you are talking about. You should leave.”

“and neither do you” he looked up from England to stare at America. “your young but not stupid. If he hasn't said it then it isn't”

America stared back at him, frowning. “Get out before I make you.”

“you wouldn't dare”

“How sure are you?” America shifted back from England. Portugal watched as England's now empty hand flexed over the spot as if searching. 

“positive because it would wake him and we both know how often he forgoes sleep for work. And neither of us wants to interrupt this”

“If you think I’m not gonna tell him you were leering over him you’re delusional.”

“you and I have very different versions of leering” Portugal said dryly “you need to stop being so hostile. If you were so secure in your status you wouldn't be like this” he got to his feet.

“Go.” America didn’t like the condescension in Portugal’s gaze before he turned his back and left. He waited for the door to click before he settled back against England’s side. He pressed his face into his throat and tried to relax. He found he couldn’t sleep. He’s wrong. 

***  
“time for supper?” England croaked as he was prodded awake. That had been the shortest two hours of his life.

“We should probably dress,” America said, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He lingered close, his body rather tense. 

“mm are we so late that even you are worried?” England teased wrapping his arms around the Americans neck as he opened his eyes.

“We could skip dinner.” 

England stared at him “we promised the girls Alfred.” he eyed the other “whatever is the matter?”

“Do you... you’re happy with me, right?” America swallowed. “Because I’m happy with you.”

England stared at him “what brought this on Alfred”

“Vicente tried to butt in while you were asleep.”

“Honestly Alfred” England heaved a sigh.

America pulled away. “I’m going to go get changed for dinner. You said casual, so no jackets.”

England grabbed the collar of Alfred's shirt, and yanked him back, stitches popping “Alfred Jones don't you dare sulk away from me like some scolded pup!”

“I’m not sulking.” He turned and looked at England. “I’ve told him to back off. You need to tell him. He treats me like I’m your flavor of the decade even though we’ve been together for seventy years, nearly eighty.” America touched England’s cheek. 

“I have told him and from what I can tell he has” England balked at the statement. It really had been eighty years.

“Maybe he has in front of you, but not in front of me.” America turned away from him. “I get that a lot went on when I was little and that there’s history that I wasn’t a part of, I’m not stupid. I’m just saying... this is now and the future, right?”

England sat up, anger sparking “don't talk at me, Alfred. Talk to me dammit”

Turning around, America looked at him. “I am talking to you.”

“and we are having this conversation while you are in my bed and I'm naked and Vicente is in a guest room?”

Hooking his fingers around the back of England’s neck, he pulled him closer. He opened his mouth as if words were just ready to trip off his tongue, but instead, he pulled England to him and kissed him.

“love” England murmured, kissing him gently “you worry over nothing”

“Good.” England curled his fingers against the back of America’s head as he tried to pull away. “You can’t blame me when we’re late for dinner.”

“good point” England pulled away, spiraling once more across the duvet. “we should rise”

Rolling on top of him, America pressed a kiss to England’s stomach. “You’ll have it all after, babe. Something to look forward to.” He flashed England a grin before planting a kiss to his hip and standing up at the edge of the bed.

“oh really?”England arched a brow, one hand sprawling across his own belly, the other tracing lazy circles on his hip.

America’s eyes followed his fingers. “Yeah, we gotta make an appearance. Unless...” He grinned. “This is acceptable for dinner?” He gestured to his rumpled travel clothes.

“absolutely not.” 

“You’re making it really hard to go to my rooms and open my bag to get proper clothes.”

“Am I?” England smiled innocently.

“Impossible.” He flopped back down on the bed pressing another kiss to England’s stomach.

“I don't see how”

“Really?” He lay his head on England’s stomach and looked up at him.

“Weren't you supposed to be getting ready?”

“You’re distracting me.” His mouth made a warm trail beneath England’s rib cage.

“I am just laying here” England inhaled slowly “all of a sudden that's a crime?” he swallowed looking down at the other. The hand not on his hip threaded through America's hair absentmindedly. The rooms were quiet and the fire kept it warm. A small bubble of peace. An idea caught his mind. after cards with Vicente how about we go up instead of staying here in my rooms”

“Up?” America paused. “To your secret room?”

England hummed in “I could have Stanley set it up during supper”

America smiled at him. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

“wow” England arched a brow “I didn't think you'd agree to an evening with Vicente”

Wrinkling his nose, America said, “That part might get cut short. I told him cards was canceled.”

“and he took your word for it?”

“No, but do we really have to play cards with him? What is it anyway, bridge?”

“Oh come now it will be fun”

“Bridge is never fun.”

“I don't know what we are playing”

“Do we have to?” America lay his hand on England’s stomach, his fingers making a soft trail. “It’ll be way more fun with just the two of us.”

“you have to socialize Alfred” he breathed

“I socialize plenty.”

“Oh come now. I’ve been looking forward to a good cards night” 

America groaned, pressing his face into England’s skin. “Fine. An hour, then we’re disappearing until tomorrow.”

“three hours”

Looking at him, a negotiator’s smile slipped onto America’s face. “Hour and a half.”

“two and a half” England frowned.

“Hour and three quarters and...” He glanced around, his voice trailing while he thought of something to sweeten the deal. “I won’t get into any arguments with him.” 

“you'll keep your manners regardless” England stared down his nose at him “two hours.” he said firmly before adding casually “and, I'll show you this new trick I learned with my tongue”

“What new trick?” America leaned up on his elbows. “Gotta know I’m getting my money’s worth, sweetheart.”

England snorted “I am the great British Empire you've never been able to afford me”

America gave him an amused look. “Opinions aside. I think I need a sample.”

“hmm” England dragged a finger along America's jawline, “I think not” he chewed on his bottom lip, “I think I'll let your imagination get things started”

Shifting over him, America leaned close. “It better be worth two hours with that guy.” The clock chimed on the bedside table as America leaned forward to kiss him.

“you'll come to like Vicente” he turned his head away “no no go get dressed”

America pressed the kiss to his cheek and got up. “All right, I’ll see you at dinner.”

***

Immediately after dinner America had been pulled away by the Princesses to show him their riding gear for tomorrow. By the time America escaped Stanley had to direct him to the room where England was. Stepping in he took note of the rich burgundy and oranges that filled the room. Against the back wall atop mountains of overstuffed pillows, England and Portugal were sprawled with a large tray between them where cards and glasses of Madeira sat, dwarfed by a massive hookah pipe. On the other side, another nation sat, he and England obviously competing to make the largest smoke rings. It was Egypt who first noticed America's arrival. 

“Arthur your other guest has arrived”

America threw England a look that he should have warned him that there were other guests but sat down beside him regardless. “Hello,” he said, smiling to the other two.

England handed off the hookah hose to America with a warning glance. “I don't think that you two have met officially. Alfred this Gupta Mohamed Hassan. Egypt. And this is Alfred Jones. ”

“The United States. I know. Hassan is enough” the stoic nation shook his head.

“Nice to meet you.” America offered a hand. Egypt waved it off and gestured to the hookah pipe England was still offering him. America stared at it like he had no idea what to do. He’d seen cigars, cigarettes, and tobacco pipes all his life, but not one quite like the hookah in front of him.

“you smoke it” England took it back, placing the tip in his mouth, a slight smirk in place, and inhaled deeply, exhaling curling smoke into the already hazy air. America took it when it was offered again and took a determined draw, but it caught him unawares and he coughed.

“Must be the recession, it’s getting better though,” he said, clearly trying to cover it up.

Portugal snorted waived for it to hand it over “Arthur says you don't smoke so it's no surprise”

“Well, I grow most of the stuff for all of you,” America said, passing it over.

“yet your people have not embraced alshayha” Egypt pointed out.

“Al-what-a?” 

“in English, its hookah” England pointed to the cushion at his side. America leaned against the place England designated.

“So, what were y’ all talking about?” he asked. He made a point of looking at his watch, taking note of the time.

“just the wine Vicente brought” England draped his legs over America's lap. 

“I do wine much better than Francis”

America looked at him, a little surprised. One hand landed on England’s leg as he reached for the fourth glass. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“This is phenomenal. He’s not wrong” England shrugged as the hose made its way back around to him. America took a sip.

“I used to smuggle Madeira and port, remember?”

“And?” Portugal arched a brow. 

“My people liked to drink it. I know about your wine.” America shrugged. “I make wine too.”

“I'm still not sure how that changes the fact that mine is better than Francis’?” 

“We’d have to have a contest to figure it out.”

“Honestly.” England sighed and looked to the other nations “It's like the time he tried to convince me that his pancakes were better than Matthews” 

“No”

“That's not even a contest”

“You’re biased towards Matt’s.”

“How?” the three men asked in unison. 

“Because he pushes those things everywhere.” America leaned back farther. “I live next to the guy, he’s... he’s Matt.”

“The North American twin with the better pancakes” Portugal countered. 

“Vicente is right love. Sorry but Matthew’s are better”

“We’ll put ‘em in a blind test. You’d never know.

”I am doubtful but if you insist” England shrugged. 

“Next time you visit.” His fingers squeezed England’s thigh gently. “All I’m saying is Matt may be quiet, but he’s sneaky with his marketing.”

“I've eaten both of yours for decades. I think I can make a decision Alfred” England snorted. 

“We’ll see.” America smiled at him. “We should switch the bottles on the wine, bet no one could really tell the difference.”

“Do you make a competition out of everything?” Egypt asked and the other two nations fell silent, eyes flicking to the youngest blonde.

“Why not?” America asked. 

Egypt stared at him before shaking his head and taking back the hose. A silence fell over the room for a moment before England cleared his throat “the sweets I sent for should be arriving any moment”

The sweets did arrive, America leaning forward to take one before the tray was even sat down on the small table between the group.

“well excuse me” England plucked the tart from America's fingers and took a bite as the other two mulled over the display. Getting another one, America pushed it into his mouth before England could consider stealing it. Portugal made a sound, drawing their attention to him.

“is there something wrong Vicente?” England arched a brow looking to the Portuguese nation.

A look passed over the two of them and then he turned away. “Perhaps there is a need for a change in the conversation now that the child has arrived.” America bristled. 

“Well someone is up past their bedtime” England pulled his legs from America's lap and stared pointedly at Portugal. The pair of them stared at each other for several moments before the Portuguese nation sighed. 

“Old habits die hard.” he turned to Egypt to offer the African nation more wine. 

America frowned at him for a moment. “Hey, did you guys hear that some pilots are trying to figure out how to fly completely around the world. That would be something!”

“That would be something” England acknowledged, leaning back against his pillows after grabbing a slice of pound cake, cut and placed pristinely in the middle of rose painted china. 

“I think I’ll be able to pull it off.” America grabbed a few more snacks and leaned back against the cushion, his shoulder bumping England’s. The conversation turned to machines, Egypt offering a few tales from when he was really young. The stories of the Ancient nations drew everyone’s attention. It was the grandfather clock chiming midnight that alerted the nations of just how late it had gotten. For five hours they had been telling stories, indulging on sweets and spirits and competing over games of cards. Portugal held a finger to his lips as America stared at the clock and swore. The Portuguese nation pointed to the weight on America's shoulder. England was fast asleep, curled into the younger blondes side.

America eased England into his arms so he could pick him up. “Guess we’re calling it a night.”

Egypt merely nodded at the young nation while Portugal raised his wine glass in acknowledgment “sleep well”

Surprised at the easy departure, America carried England out of the room. He didn’t know how to get to England’s secret room so he started in the direction of his bedroom. A throat cleared behind him and America turned to see Stanley standing behind him. He smiled as England's car driver stepped out from behind a large wall tapestry. 

“this way master Jones” George held the tapestry back to reveal an open door. Making sure he had England securely in his arms, America made his way through the narrow hallway and up the stairs. A cushion had been made up in the center of the floor and America settled England onto it. 

“how long have I been out?” England yawned.

“Not sure, the clock seemed to wake us all up.” America leaned up, loosening the bow tie he’d put on for dinner. 

“oh dear” England stretched out with a groan and fished for his pocket watch, clicking it open. “it's almost 1230”

“Yep.” America settled down on the cushion beside him, pushing his nose against his shirt collar.

“what's wrong?”

“It’s bedtime.” He wrapped his arms around England’s middle. 

“yes but I'd prefer not to sleep in my clothes”

“Let’s get out of them then.” His fingers went to England’s clothes, starting on the buttons. England allowed him to remove his clothes, lethargic with the fog of sleep. It only took moments after they were both naked, England tugging at Americas clothes, for the smaller nation to curl into his side.

“I am so glad that you didn't fight”

Humming, America settled against him. “That was the deal.”

“so glad my love” England murmured sleepily, tucking himself beneath America's chin. Warmth spread through America’s chest and he pressed a kiss into his hair. 

“You’re welcome.” He yawned. 

***

A thudding knock at the bottom of the stairwell woke America, England not moving an inch. Sunlight streamed through the single window in the room. Stanley's voice echoed in the stairs “ Breakfast will be served in one hour”

“Thanks,” America called back. He snuggled back against England. He looked down at England’s sleeping face, enjoying the openness of it. The hardened lines on his face were smoothed away and the centuries seemed to be buried beneath the youth. Reaching up, America put a hand on England’s face.

“no” 

“No?”

“I have no desire to get up”

“Who said anything about getting up?” 

“because we have breakfast”

“In an hour.” America pressed a kiss between England’s brows.

“ah” England yawned “to dress”

“Won’t they just bring it here?” America asked, enjoying the way England’s limbs shifted against his own as he got more comfortable.

“not with the other guests,” he mumbled, closing any space between them in his search for warmth for the November morning air

“What guests?” 

“do you not remember yesterday at all” the annoyance cut into the softness his tone only took on upon walking or during those rare verbally expressed moments if sentiment. Which usually happened at the same time.

“I remember you promising me that we’d be undisturbed in here.” He smoothed his thumb over England’s cheekbone. “And that we only had to socialize for two hours.”

“ I don't remember you putting a stop to any of it” England pointed out as he reached up to drape his arms about America's neck, fingers twirling in the strands of hair at the nape of America's neck.

“Yeah, but when you fall asleep...” He pressed a soft kiss to England’s mouth.

“so?” England hummed “you didn't have to keep chatting”

“You just owe me.” 

“so needy” England dramatically whined. 

“You know me. I just want it all.” America rolled over on top of him, smiling down as he leaned up on his elbows. 

“I guess I have to blame that part of your attitude” 

“Blame away.” He leaned down for another kiss, his body pressing against England’s. Hands moved over each other, not rushing. Memorizing, America felt as though he were making a map, finding every sigh and pleased sound something to remember.

***

“When do you think someone will be sent to drag us out of here?” America asked the back of England’s neck as they curled together. England was glad for the morning, it hadn't turned into sex at all. Just gentle touches, re-exploring each others body. 

“probably any moment. Knowing Stanley breakfast wasn't in an hour at all but rather he woke us up early so that we could laze about without being late”

“Who are we eating with?”

“depends who shows up”

“So maybe no guests?” His voice sounded hopeful.

England snorted “you're supposed to be the social one”

“Congress doesn’t want me to be. I’m being told to pull back a bit.”

That immediately shifted England's mood “excuse me?”

“We can talk business after breakfast,” America mumbled. England's jaw tightened as his teeth clenched, he looked away from the other. He has promised himself when he made this room that politics and world affairs were not allowed. But he was tempted to break that vow right now..this was news to him and news that he did not like at all.

America could clearly feel the tension in England’s body as he adjusted his hold. “Are you okay?”

“we can talk about it after breakfast” he echoed.

“I guess we should get up then,” America said. He pressed one more kiss behind England’s ear, but England couldn’t feel the warmth. It was only a sense of dread at whatever bit of news America had come to tell him yesterday, beyond the issues with the treaties and everything else. America pushed himself up  
from the bed and found his clothes from the night before, pulling them on before they walked back to their rooms to get dressed for breakfast.

***

“good morning gentleman” England announced as he entered his personal dining quarters. A series of half asleep and energetic good mornings were his response. Egypt looked half asleep, Portugal wide awake and was chatting adamantly at the Netherlands who appeared barely awake with his arm draped over the back of Portugal's chair.

America appeared a moment later, rubbing a hand over his hair and blindly reaching for the silver coffee pot in the middle of the tray. “You guys better not have finished off the bacon.”

England rolled his eyes and pulled the Americans glasses out of his breast pocket. he may have distracted the younger on the way out of the door. “Alfred”

Taking his glasses, America pushed them onto his face offering England a small smile. He dropped down into his seat and filled the coffee cup half full of cream before the coffee even made it into the cup. 

“So Arthur is right, you like some coffee with your creamer and not some creamer with your coffee” Portugal snorted.

“It’s my style.” America leaned back, stretching his arm over the back of England’s chair.

“sugar and fat yes” England drawled. “good morning Govert. I didn't see you at all yesterday”

“yes, I was very tired and not up for socializing. I told Vicente to go without me”

Confusion crossed America’s face and he glanced at England as he took a big sip from his coffee.

“well, I am glad that you are feeling rested” England smiled, watching as Portugal loaded his own plate as well as Holland's. 

America watched, leaning over to England to ask. “Are they? Since when?”

“maybe the last decade two decades or so. On and off before then” England murmured behind his teacup.

“You could have told me he wasn’t trying to get back into your favor.”

“I did”

“I must have missed that.” America shrugged and pulled a breakfast plate towards him. 

“Obviously” England drolled, scooping up the scone that was on the plate America had grabbed. Pulling a double dish of jam and cream he drowned the pastry “I told you he was going to amiable” 

“Hmmm,” America said, snagging more food for his plate. The conversation was slow at first as caffeine was consumed, but words came more freely as bellies were filled. 

“Don’t forget we are to go riding with the girls today” England snagged a strawberry from Americas plate when no one else was looking and popped it into his mouth. 

Swiping some of the cream off the corner of England’s mouth with his thumb, America smiled at him. “I didn’t forget.”

“good” England's face flushed in embarrassment at the public display of affection. America was opening his mouth to say something more when noise erupted outside the dining room, the sound of men’s voices cutting through space. 

England launched to his feet as he recognized several of the voices, the color draining from his face as the words ‘divorcee’ and ‘American’ were heard very loudly throughout the breakfast room. He knew Edward had come back early this morning but he had hoped that hoisting breakfast in his private dining room would keep the king at bay. Apparently, that was not the case.

The doors came flying open revealing the Edward, his eyes immediately landing on England. “Arthur, forgive my intrusion but it is rather time sensitive that we discuss several matters.” His eyes landed on America and he said, “Perhaps you could explain to him and the rest that being American should not be one of the marks against her.”

“Edward this is not the time to argue on a topic that has been decided on. You can't marry the American woman” England sighed stepping away from the table and began herding the king out of the room.

America slipped through the door behind them before England could close him into the dining room with the rest. Edward narrowed his gaze at England. “I love her.”

“then take her as a mistress Edward. But you cannot make her Queen” England sighed.

“What if I find such an arrangement unacceptable? It is no business of Parliament’s who I marry.”

“technically it is Edward, it's the people business as well who the king marries. You are the head of the country, as a king you are not Edward you are the King of England and the King of England must be married to a proper Queen of England.”Arthur said tightly “However whomever Edward wishes to bed on the side is his choice for that will be not be recognized by legal parties”

“I cannot believe you are advocating for infidelity.”

“marriages between royalty are not the same as normal marriages,” England said dryly “as long as you try to not be Henry VIII and start killing your wives left and right that's all I ask”

“We need to find a way for this to work, Arthur. I won’t be king without her by my side.”

“and she can be by your side. Just not officially” England laid his hands on Edwards' forearms “please Edward we have so much to deal with right now.” he shook his head “ I don't know if I can handle another church vs king years of court cases while the Great Wars treaties are disintegrating right beneath our feet”

“Perhaps we should be thinking more about love than policy. The world is changing. We can follow it or not.” Edward sighed, stepping back from England. “I was hoping to catch you in a more amenable mood to solving this dilemma. We can discuss this later.”

“Edward please” England pleaded “I see both sides but there is only so much that I can do. Can't you see that”

“Do your utmost, Arthur, it’s for everyone’s sake.” Edward turned on his heel and went out of the room, politicians startling when the doors were thrown open and they were able to trail after the king once again.

“Would it really be so bad if he just married her?” America asked after the door closed again.

“She is a divorcee with two living husbands”

“So? It’s unconventional sure and purists will look down their nose at it, but it’s not like they aren’t trying to do it right.”

“it is against the law Alfred”

“Laws change all the time. That’s why there are constitutions to dictate how to do it.”

England frowned “well if he wants to wait the decade or so that it will take it to go through parliament then he can wait”

“I know it’s not exactly how either of us pictured it... but it was kind of inevitable, right?”

England turned to stare at him “excuse me?”

“That someday one of your Royals would fall in love with an American.”

England frowned “explains why the whole damn thing is giving me a bleeding headache”

“What is that supposed to mean?” America stood up from his casual position at the door.

“because of the lack of respect Americans typically have for my people's traditions”

Crossing his arms, America frowned. “Seriously? What about your lack of respect for my people’s traditions?”

“I am not having this conversation with you right now Alfred,” England said firmly, walking over to him.

“Right, because tradition beats everything.”

“I said no” England stopped in front of him and grasped the other's wrists, fingers curling around them

America stiffened at first, not budging. “Arthur...” His shoulders lowered, his hands sliding down his arms. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“that's why I said no” England stepped into America's personal space, pulling the youngers arms around him like a belt. “this does not concern you”

“Except it does. You don’t think it’s news back home? It’s big talk.”

“no” England cleared his throat.

“Is that what you are going to say to all the business today?” America rested his chin on top of England’s head.

“regarding my king yes”

“Fine, we’ve got bigger fish to fry anyway.”

England snorted and pulled back to look at the boy “I guess yes I do”

“Back into the fray?”

“you can say that” England's fingers found Americas belt and began to undo it slowly. 

Surprise crossed America’s face. “What are you doing?”

“I promised you that thing I learned with my tongue didn't I?” England answered cordially, carefully lowering to his knees as if kneeling down to pick up a dropped handkerchief rather than unbuttoning America's trousers.

The blue in America’s eyes seemed to darken as his expression changed. One hand tangled in England’s hair. “Right here?”

“why not?” England pressed a kiss to Americas hip bone “what's the worst that can happen? Someone walks in on us?”

“Getting caught with my pants...” The words cut off with an intake of breath as England tugged his trousers down a little further off his hips. “We should...”

England rolled his eyes as America's words dissolved into nonsense and England smacked his hands out of his hair, he had no desire to go bald. He pinched at the man's hips in warning when he got too loud, pushing him flush against the wall so the younger wouldn't choke him. England's lips curled up in a smile as the other let out of choked sound and England leaned back on his heels, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. He grinned as America slid down the wall to slump in front of him.

He tried to catch his breath, cheeks pink from the aftermath. He reached forward to catch England by the shirt collar and pull him close. He pressed his mouth to England’s forehead. “New thing, huh?”

“like I said” England's eyes scrunched for a moment. 

“Are you okay?”

“yes you just yanked me”

“I feel like I blew a fuse.” His fingers brushed against England’s neck. “Gonna need a minute to reset.” 

“well that's a new one” England chuckled

America hooked his fingers beneath England’s chin. “We might have to do that again.”

“I suppose if you are good that it could happen again”

“I’m always good,” America said, bringing England’s eyes up to his own. He bumped their noses together. “We should... probably get cleaned up though. Get to work.” He said the latter with a bit of whine as though he’d rather stay right here.

“Well, you're not wrong. this is what you get for showing up unannounced. I could have planned for a holiday had I known”

“Next time, babe.” America smoothed England’s hair off his forehead. “I’ll call ahead.”

England stared up at him in confusion as his hair was smoothed back “What are you doing?” 

“Looking at you.” He pressed a kiss between his brows. 

“No one else but you goes from getting their cock sucked to being all sentimental. Sometimes I wonder if your daft” England snorted. 

“And you like it. And if you needed attention you can...” He put his hands on England’s hips and lifted him into his lap. “Say something.” His hands went to England’s belt. 

“Actually I am good” England grabbed his hands and shook his head “We have things to do today” 

“Fine. I need to go wash up but I can meet you in your study.” 

“At the stables. We have to go riding remember” 

“We have to talk, too.”

“We will Alfred. It's not like these are things that will go unnoticed”


	19. Game of Thrones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading thus far! Super excited so much closer to even bigger drama!!! A.

December 11, 1936  
Buckingham Palace, London England

“ This year has been a bloody fucking mess!” England bellowed, Canada watching from the corner of his study and he chucked a book across the room in a fit of rage “Ladies, for example, Aviator Beryl Markham who just turned into the first lady to fly solo over the Atlantic Ocean from East to West back in September. In Spain General Francisco Franco was named the Head of State in Spain for the Nationalist government amid October. The Spanish Civil War had begun in July when the dissident Nationalists, headed by Franco, started a military uprising against the Republican government. The German aircraft "The Hindenburg" had its first open trip amid March. It was propelled from Friedrichshafen, Germany and the debut flight was utilized as a promulgation apparatus by Nazi Germany. 

The Hindenburg aircraft visited around Germany with the Graf Zeppelin carrier for a few days dropping pamphlets requesting that the general population support the German control of the Rhineland, an infringement of the Treaty of Versailles. The Hindenburg at that point turned into a business carrier that was utilized to ship travelers between the United States and Germany. Japanese Marines had taken control of the Shanghai area of China and Chiang Kai-Shek announced war on Japan. Following the sorrow overall tyrannies presently settled themselves in Mexico, Bulgaria and Peru.” he rattled off the facts in a jumbled mess, some parts excited and proud while others saturated with disdain and a touch of panic. 

All of this only temporarily distracted his anger which returned in full force moments later. “Lord George V had only passed on in January just a year in the wake of praising his Silver Jubilee. God rest his soul!. Now Edward VIII, the Prince of Wales, turning out to be one of Britain's best decision rulers in spite of the fact that his rule so far was getting to be incorporated in this tattle encompassing his fascination with an American divorced person. The court and the general population were all excited about the entire circumstance. And then he pulled off this stunt! He announced he was fucking abdicating the throne! You just don’t give up the damn throne of England. For a fucking divorcee! What the bloody hell kind of siren is she to pull Edward away from the throne! He was sensible! One of the most sensible and strategic Kings I have ever seen and this little girl comes along, flashes her ankle and flutters her eyelashes and he's whisked away! He is her flavor of the month, now! She has courted various men of power and status and now she has my king! What the bloody hell is Edward thinking!” glass screamed as it shattered against the bookshelf. “You saw it, Matthew! You were there!” the fire in the hearth roared in personified anger. 

“I saw it Arthur, I... I don’t think I should comment.” Canada glanced up at him over the top of his glasses. “I... You know that Alfred is in Spain.”

“why the bloody fuck is he still in Spain! Hiding out there because one of his people is ducking up my throne!” England kicked his desk.

“The civil war. He’s looking after the Lincoln Brigade... the excitement of it.” Canada rubbed at the back of his neck. He wasn’t exactly innocent himself, a group of his own people was interfering on the same side. “I don’t... he probably hasn’t heard of His Highness’s decision.”

“ of fucking bloody course not” England seethed, inhaling deeply as he glared at the window, ice Crystal's beginning to form over the panes only to be melted away gently. He could feel Canada's magic trailing after his to assuage any damage.

“Arthur, maybe you should sit down,” Canada said, getting up to try and ease England into a seat. There was a knock on the door and Canada went to answer it before anyone could open it. He spoke slowly with someone on the other side of the door.

“Perhaps you could tell him to wait... yes, I know it won’t do any good. Ask anyway.” A sigh. The door was closed again. “He’s here.”

England whirled around, teeth clacking as the muscle in his jaw jumped. “Good because I'm going to give him a piece of my damn mind!” he brushed off Canada's hands and yanked the door open, storming into the hallway. Down at the very end Stanley was standing in front of America, arms crossed and looking none too excited.

Smiling at England as though nothing was wrong, America looked at Stanley and said, “See, he’s coming out to greet me himself. Arthur, maybe you need a new doorkeeper.”

“You fucking arsehole!” England bellowed, grabbing a conveniently placed vase from a table, he chucked it as hard as he could at the nation, Stanley diving out of the way and out of the hall.

“Arthur, what the hell?” America ducked, the vase smashing against the wall where his head had been a moment before.

“you think this is bloody funny! Your comments from so long ago and you are so damn pleased with yourself! How dare you!” There were so many perfectly placed cases in the hall.

America picked up a tray that had been left on an end table and used it as a makeshift shield. “It’s not my fault they keep passing laws! It’s not that I don’t-” He barely blocked a heavy stone figurine which dented the tray with a hollow ringing sound. 

“How dare you show up hear after costing me, my King!” England screamed, grabbing a large book off the last table between him and America.

“What?” America looked at him, eyes wide behind his glasses. “What happened to him?”

“Don't act like you don't know! It's been all over the bloody world! Francis has already called about it!” England grabbed the tray and tried to yank it away from him. 

“How is Edward giving up the throne my fault?” He kept a firm hold on it, backing away from England. “And it’s kind of romantic don’t you think?”

England barely heard the groan from Canada behind him as the hall turned red “I knew you were apart of this!” 

“I was not! It’s just... Arthur!” England hit the tray and America dropped it, trying to catch England’s now bleeding hand. “You’re gonna get hurt.”

“who are you to touch me!”England tried to yank away “you made comments decades ago about how funny it would be if royalty tried to marry an American and I told you it would hurt my government and look what happened!”

“I never said it was funny! Our people have been marrying each other since I existed and I’m pretty sure I just said it would probably happen someday!” America held him fast, unmoveable despite England’s struggle to pull away. 

“I don’t care about the marriage of our common peoples but one of your socialites has seduced my monarch and now my country is in upheaval!” England dropped to the ground in hopes of throwing America off balance. 

Stumbling, America tried to catch himself on the end table. “And what am I supposed to do about it? It takes two to tango!”

“Keep her under control!” England shouted, grunting as he hit the floor when America’s grip relaxed in his surprise. Rolling to his feet he glared down at America “And then you have the audacity to waltz in here, acting like nothing has changed at all. Like my country isn’t going into a crisis right now because of an American!”

America’s gaze darkened. Still and silent. “I don’t recall ever attacking you over the actions of individuals that belong to you. Seriously, Arthur, you want me to start listing Englishmen who have caused my people or my government injury?! I don’t have any more control over Wallis Simpson than you apparently had over your king!”

“that's not the fucking point and you know it!”

“What is the point then?”

“it shouldn't have happened! And you're acting like its okay!”

“You’re putting words in my mouth! It is what it is, he’s not gonna change his mind and now Bertie is king! It’s not like you have no monarchy!”

“I told you this would end up as a scandal!”

“Okay, it’s a scandal! Now what?”

“I don't know!” England's hands buried in his hair, pulling at the roots. America stepped forward, his hands smoothing over England’s. He pulled him into his arms, ignoring the half-hearted fist that was smacked against his chest.

“I am so pissed!” England seethed, pushing at America's shoulders while his forehead dropped to the tallers' chest.

“I never would have guessed.” He smoothed his hands over England’s back, trying to calm him.

“this is what I get for allowing Americans near the royal family!” he barked, shaking his head as his fingers curled into fists once again.

“We’re not that bad.” 

Any rigidity that had left England's body returned “fix it”

“Fix it?” America’s voice was startled.

“fit it dammit!”

“I’m...” America paused. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“you-you-” England pushed away from him, backing up in the hallway “have Stanley see you to your rooms” he shook his head, turning to see Canada standing behind him and he grabbed the quieter boys hand.

“Arthur...” He sounded crestfallen. 

“I-I’ll see you at dinner” England shook his head and pulled Canada along towards his rooms. The violet-eyed blonde looked back at his brother and mouthed ‘I'll be right back’. 

***

America stared at the closed door for a moment, feeling like his car had just rolled over into the ditch. He knew what he had come to talk about was going to be touchy, but he hadn’t expected England to be livid before he even said anything. Walking over to the sitting couch he dropped into it. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. He stared at the ornate carpet, running a hand through his hair. He stood up. England had no right to treat him like he was a naughty child who had upset the cream pitcher one too many times. Squaring his shoulders, he walked towards the room. England could be mad, but he wasn’t shutting him out right now.

Matthew slipped out of the door and closed it behind him. “Alfred”

“Out of the way, Matt, I need to give Arthur a piece of my mind.”

“leave him be for now Al,” Matthew said firmly, not budging from the front of the door.

“He can’t just yell at me and then storm off!”

“leave him be unless you want to make it worse! I convinced him to sit with a cuppa”

“So what I’m just supposed to wait for him to decide he wants to speak with me. I have things to do, too.”

“give him time to calm down Alfred”

America gave him a hard stare, but he could see his brother was moving quickly towards the strange protective mode that he went in around England. He crossed his arms. “Tell him he needs to speak with me.”

“you need to give him a break Alfred,” Matthew said firmly “you can speak with him after lunch”

“What am I supposed to do until then, twiddle my thumbs? As much as I wish it wasn’t, I’m not here just to see him, Matt, he and I need to coordinate on some things if everything isn’t going to go to the damn hogs.”

“and what the bloody hell are you going to get accomplished when he is in that state” Mathew frowned. He had been in England for a month was starting to pick up his language again

“None of your business!” America clenched his fists. “I’m going out. Tell Arthur when he’s done blaming me for things I can’t control he can come find me. I’m not coming back until he asks.” He turned on his heel, not listening to Canada when he tried to stop him. He wanted out of the palace. Hours passed, America wasn't sure how many, he hadn't checked his watch when he left, but he was tracked down by one of England's staff. Honestly, he had probably been followed since he left. The woman handed him a note, gave a small bob of a curtsey and left.

Alfred, he finally calmed down and fell asleep.  
M.

“That’s not him asking for me to come back,” America grumbled and stuffed the note in his pocket. He found his way back to the American embassy and ran into the ambassador looking frazzled. Apparently, not only was Matt sending people to watch him, but they’d also been calling the embassy to see where he was. America shrugged it off and took some paperwork into one of the offices. He felt tired too. He crossed his arms on the desk and lay his head down on top of them. 

“Alfred wake up” Matthew stood above him, shaking him gently.

“Huh? I wasn’t asleep...” He pulled his glasses off his face and rubbed at his eyes. He still felt tired. “What time is it?”

“Almost supper. He fell asleep, should I move him or you?” he said bluntly.

“Where did he fall asleep?” America asked.

“on the couch. Figured he would be more comfortable in the bed, I can carry him though he doesn't weigh much. He’s not been eating much cause of the stress so he's probably less than normal”

“No, I can do it.” He sighed. “I’ll put him in bed, but then I have work to do.”

“I can do it if you're too busy”

“No, if you were gonna do that you wouldn’t have come here to ask me to.” America got up from his desk, rubbing another sleepy hand over his face.

“alright.”Matthew shrugged “they are sending supper to his room” he watched America as he headed towards England's rooms. When he stepped in America noticed the disarray the foyer was in. Tables knocked over and books were strewn across the floor. England was curled on the couch, surrounded by stacks of papers all headlining the abdication of the throne. England was sleeping restlessly, eyes were swollen and read, a grimace disrupting his normally smooth sleeping face.

America walked over to him, feeling torn. He wanted to smooth England’s brow, but he couldn’t get over the way he’d shouted at him. Leaning down he picked him up carefully, hoping that he’d stay asleep. When England didn't stir America let out a sigh of relief, fate seemed to be on his side. That was until halfway across the room when slender arms looped around his neck, a nose pressed to the hollow of his throat with a tired hum.

Settling England down on the bed, America let his hands slide against England’s. “I can’t stay.”

“do. Suppers on it's way surely” England blinked tiredly up at him “I'm cold. Stay”

“No, I’m not staying.” He unhooked England’s arms from his neck. England's brow scrunched but he laid down, curling into the blanket.

“Alright, but please ask Matthew to come in” he yawned. 

“No.” America turned around and started for the door. “Matt is coming with me.”

“whatever for?”

“Because he’s going to.” America was itching for some distraction. Canada could be fun, besides, he probably knew a few good spots in London to get into trouble.

“Well...if that's what you desire. Have a good night” he rolled away “ then just have Matthew send for Vladimir please”

“Go to sleep, Arthur,” America said, not intending to tell anyone else anything. He exited the room and took Canada around the shoulders. “We’re going out.”

Canada looked up at America with a frown “I'm not going anywhere”

“I’m not asking. Be on my side today.” When Canada dug his heels into the carpet, he said. “You’re my brother.”

“which is why I am saying no. Because I know exactly how this is going to go”

“And how is it going to go?”

“you are going to get absolutely sloshed and then start crying about something along the lines of needing Arthur and then end up crawling into his bed and then rather than being sober when he is amiable in the morning and talk things out then you are just going to piss him off in the morning”

A frown pulled at America’s mouth. “I was only planning on the first part. I’m not... he has to talk to me. Not ask for a bunch of other people to come to his room!”

Matthew frowned “first of all who did he ask for? Second of all did he ask you to stay first”

“Of course he asked me to stay, but as soon as I told him I wouldn’t he asked for you and then Vladimir. He... he can’t think I’m just waiting around for him anymore.” 

Canada stared at him “you think…” his nose wrinkled in disgust “that's..disgusting”

Shaking his head, America walked away from him. “You can come with me or not, Matt, but I’m seeing if anyone else wants to go if you’re not.”

“fine but the only two visiting right now are Vladimir, Francis, and Feliks so good luck.” Canada stepped out after him, sighing when he noticed Stanley walking with footmen away from England's quarters. “he wouldn't eat again would he”

“No Lord William” Stanley shook his head, eyes flicking to America “He said he would eat when Master Jones is ready to join him. Until then he wanted me to find you and ask that once your done attending to Master Jones that you bring him a sleeping tonic or if your going to be out late than to let Master Albu he would like him to brew him up one”

When Canada turned to look at him, America shook his head. “He needs to invite me.”

“he already asked you to stay Alfred,” Canada said flatly.

“No, he expected. He only brought it up because I told him I was leaving.”

Canada heaved a sigh “I'll go out with you but only after I take care of Arthur” he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Tapping his watch, America said, “You have thirty minutes tops. Otherwise, I’m gonna call someone else.”

Canada frowned “you are being such an ass today Al” with that he turned on his heal and left for England's chambers.

“Arthur started it,” America got in before Canada could close the door. Canada shook his head, staring out of the way of the two women who were picking up the foyer and slipped into England's room. The older nation was sitting on his window seat, staring outside.

“he's not coming back, is he? Even though I asked?” England turned to look at Canada who shook his head.

“what's going on Arthur you know how to make your own sleeping tonics.” Canada watched him carefully as England got up to crawl back into his bed.

“yes, but I may have gotten overzealous in the greenhouse earlier” his grin was sheepish as Canada sighed.

“Again?”

“I wanted five dozen roses for tomorrow morning”

“you're going to send him vases of roses and breakfast in bed?”

“and for you” England yawned, eyes easily sliding shut as he felt Mathews fingers on his temple. “but I need to sleep through the night”

“Alright alright” Matthew murmured, concentrating.

 

***

“and you are still here and in his parlor?”

America looked up from the book in his hands as Canada stepped out of England's room, shutting the door behind him.

“I gave you a grace period.” He closed the book with a snap. “You’re always late.”

“Arthur wasn't feeling well so I decided to stay a bit longer. Plus you said you would ask the others so I figured it would be fine”

“I did call someone. Francis said he would only come if we could drag you away from Arthur.”

“you do realize Francis isn't here?” Matthew arched a brow.

“He’s not far. C’mon.” 

“and you believed him?” Matthew sighed “lead the way then”

They made their way out of the palace into the streets where people were still going about their business. Checking an address, America turned down one street after another until they found a small tavern. “Told you he was here,” America said when France waved at them from a back table.

Matthew frowned at the Frenchman, he had explicitly told him it wasn't a good idea for him to be here. If Arthur found out he had left him to see France he would be livid.

France looked worried as he caught sight of Canada’s face. “It was I come or he was calling Ivan,” he whispered, not bothering to try and hide the notion from America. 

“That was a joke,” America insisted.

“It did not sound like one, mon ami.”

“Ivan wouldn't have come. One it takes hours, two Alfred knows that that was something Arthur would never forgive him if he did that. But hey, if you are here to keep him busy I can leave”

“Don’t go, Matt. You haven’t had a drink with me in ages,” America said, ignoring Canada’s expression when he’d heard that he’d been considering calling Russia. “Arthur is asleep and he knows you’re out with me.” America held onto Canada’s coat sleeve.

“a drink. then we should go back”

“You can have one drink.” He took hold of one of the glasses that France had ordered for them and passed it onto Canada. He pulled out his chair with a flourish and started in on his own.

“Arthur was super upset and was planning to make it up to him for how angry he was and Alfred wouldn't have it” Matthew complained to Francis.

“He got on me five minutes after I walked into the room over something that’s not my fault! If he couldn’t get those two to call it off there’s nothing I’m gonna be able to swing. What does he want me to do? Make her disappear?” America waved for another. “If he’d acted like he felt bad about it then that would be a different story. I can be just as stubborn as he is!”

“you didn't give him the chance Al” Matthew pointed out.

“are we talking about waiting for apologies from the same prideful Arthur?” Francais stared.

“I’m not dumb, I won’t hold my breath for an apology,” America said. The beer arrived and he downed it. “He didn’t even try to stop me when I told him I was leaving.”

“with the mood, you went in there I'm not surprised. He asked though” Canada pointed out.

“Because he likes me there. He wanted me for him, he wasn’t thinking about me.” America stared at the wood grain. He sighed and leaned back in his seat. “I need something stronger than this.” 

“and how you know. Did you ask?” Francis prompted

“An ounce of regret... that’s all I ask.” America leaned his head on his arms on the table. “He trashed my people.”

“you know Francis I think Alfred's president fancies that actress of yours. Perhaps you could have him come over on vacation for a couple of years and stay with her? It would be truly romantic for them to elope” Canada smiled and France nodded.

“Oui grand idea Matthew”

“He’s already got a mistress,” America grumbled into the tabletop. “Nice try.”

“then perhaps he should leave the White House for her”

“You don’t know FDR, he loves being president more than anything. England’s guy didn’t care enough, why would he want that guy to be king?”

“he is missing the point”

“yes he is”

“Maybe if you guys stopped trying to confuse me.” The third beer arrived.

“Maybe if you would have just let him talk then you wouldn't be” Canada grabbed the drink.

“He wasn’t talking to me.” America tried to grab the drink back. “When you rant about that thing Francis does I never tell you to just hear him out.” 

“I meant when he woke up”

“So I’m supposed to swallow how I feel while he gets a full night’s sleep? No way.” He reached again. “Give me that.”

“or he was trying to talk to you. No your done”

“He could have fucking said that.” America wrapped his fingers around the glass. “It’s mine.”

“you are not listening tonight so he probably did” he swatted at America's hands.

“I hear you withholding my beer. I have a decade to make up for.” America simply waved at the bar to send over another. “Francis, tell Matt to stop being such an ass.”

“I'm with Matthew on this one Alfred”

“Can’t you guys be on my side? I’m not wrong here.”

“we aren't saying your wrong we are just saying that you two need to talk”

“And when he’s ready to talk to me he knows where I am!” America leaned back in his seat. “One more drink and I’ll go back to my rooms. Will, that make you happy?”

“or now”

“No. One more drink.”

“half”

“Three quarters.”

“half”

“And what? You gotta sweeten the deal.”

Matthew shoved the beer at him “I'm done.”

“Matt...” He leaned against Canada’s shoulder. He wanted comfort and thought these two could provide at least a little. Instead, they were being as cold as strangers. Matthew stayed in his seat, allowing his brother to lean against him, he touched the beads of condensation that rolled down his own glass.

“Alfred you know that you're not going to feel better until this is fixed.”

“Why do I always have to do something about it? I always have to come to him, when is he going to turn around and come to me?”

“he does in his own way” Canada let his head rest on the top of Americans. “it's late.”

“I don’t want to go back yet. In a little bit.”

“Alright”

*** 

It wasn't often that America woke up in this room, he could count on one hand and less than that was he the only one in the bed. However, in the bright sunlight that had erupted across the four posted guest bed, his vision was blue. On the footboard sat an enormously ornate vase filled with violet-blue Rose's. Maids hustled around the room, streams of them hauling perfumes and other bath things into the guest rooms private bath. Two women were straightening out his clothes while two footmen each rolled in a cart. One of them was loaded high with platters of food, silver lids pulled off revealed everything from breakfast meats to sweets. When the other one pulled up it was with six pots and cups. Next, to the vase Stanley stood overseeing everything. When he noticed that America was awake he smiled. “good morning master Jones, how would you like to start? We have six varieties of coffee, creams, and sugars. How would you take it?”

“I can fix it,” he said. He blinked at all of the hustle and bustle. His head hurt from how much he’d managed to drink before Canada and France finally pulled him out of the pub. “Uh, thanks.”

Stanley gestured for the coffee cart to be pushed up alongside the bed. “ of course, and the ladies are preparing your bath for after you eat”

Reaching for the coffee, America tried to make conversation with the servants, but they all went about their business. He picked up the newspaper that had been left and tried to make a show of reading it until they were all gone. As soon as the last one exited, he got up and went to the trays of breakfast food, trying each of the foods that had been set out. He’d scraped clean most of the plates when the steam from the bathroom sounded like a good idea. The water smelled a little too flowery, but he got in regardless. Two men came back in with a second set of towels and a bathrobe.

“anything else masters jones?”

“Some privacy would be great. Seriously, I’m fine.” 

“I have it from hear gentlemen thank you” England's voice sounded from behind him in the steam.

America lay his head back against the edge of the bathtub. He was a little surprised, certain that England would wait for him to bring up the gifts he’d sent to the room later and then get annoyed when the show of gratitude wasn’t enough. “You’re here,” he said.

“this is my palace I would hope so” England stepped up and covered America's eyes so he couldn't see “I… I'm sorry”

Reaching up, America touched his hand. He really was there, his skin always cool against his own. Those words had actually come out of his mouth. Emotion welled up in America’s chest. “I’m not dreaming.”

“Sh-shut up wanker” England stammered.

America pulled his hands off his eyes and grinned up at him. “Get in with me.”

England looked away for a moment “I” he was apologizing for throwing things at the man, he wasn't ready to apologize for the anger cause he was still pissed. “alright” he lifted one leg after the other and climbed in.

Pulling him back against his chest, America leaned his forehead against England’s shoulder. “I didn’t think you’d come around so fast.”

“let's not talk about it” England leaned back against him.

America pressed a kiss to his neck. “Ok, we need to talk about the reason I’m here though... sometime.”

“could we please talk about something else right now” England tense but took a deep breath to relax. Shrinking down slightly he kicked his feet beneath the water. 

“Can you believe how hot it was this summer? Record-breaking. I mean, there weren’t a whole lot of resorts still open with the bad times, but the beaches were all still there. You could have come.” He wrapped an arm around England’s chest. “Lay around with me in the sun.”

“And get burnt? I think I shall pass”

“It feels good, though. Sometimes I feel like I can see through your skin.” He settled against the edge of the tub, holding England gently.

“I am not translucent!” England scowled, pinching America's thigh.

America caught his hand. “Nah, just blue blood.” He kissed behind England’s ear. He could feel England hesitating about something, but America couldn’t deny that he felt better with him in his arms. Was it the apology? Was England not being sincere? Worry lodged in his gut, but he was determined to will it away. “So no sun... but maybe you’d come into my lakehouse then, get the breeze off the water?” 

“possibly” England glanced at the hand that was wrapped around his wrist and sunk deeper into the water 

America took a deep breath. “I’m tired, Arthur.”

“did you not sleep well?” England glanced up at him.

“That... and the last decade has been rough. I hope things turn around soon, but it’s not looking like it.”

“was the mattress off?” England frowned. There was nothing he could do about the political and social stresses but he could fix a mattress.

“No, just lonely. I think it’s the first time I’ve had to sleep alone here in a hundred years. I was kind of hoping you’d come.”

“I was asleep before you came back” England countered.

“I don’t remember coming back last night either.”

“I figured that was the case when it wasn't you sitting in bed next to me but Vladimir” England felt America go rigid and he turned, clasping America's cheeks “no no love he was just checking on me!” the edge of his voice took on a panicked note as he searched Americas expression. He had been terrified when he woke up that morning and realized America had not come to him. Had he chased him away? Was America in someone else's bed? Had that break down been the final straw? He vaguely remembered yesterday in a haze of red.

America looked back at him, eyes searching England’s face as well. “I believe you. It’s better than me... I think I might have tried to call the Commie last night.” America’s brow furrowed as he tried to remember. “I vaguely remember Matt hanging up a receiver.”

England recoiled, his panic mixing with angered disbelief “excuse me?”

“I wanted to pick a fight. It’s fun to annoy him.”

England frowned at him “you need to not antagonize him”

America offered him a lop-sided grin. “It’s all talk, he’s not going to do anything. It’s not like I plan on invading him. C’mon, you joke with Francis about going to war with him again all the time.”

England relaxed, fingers finding their way from America's cheek to tracing the smile “But the frog and I have a different sort of relationship”

“That so? I never would have guessed.” He kissed the tips of England’s fingers. 

“hush you” England chided quietly.

A small chuckle, America leaning towards him and putting his fingers under his chin. He brushed his lips against England’s own. England flushed in embarrassment at the small sigh that escaped him, it had been a year since they had last seen each other and apparently he hadn't realized just how tenuous that year could be.

“you can’t do that”

“Why not?” America asked.

“you can't” England a shook his head and took a deep breath “cruel” he swallowed, touching Americas mouth again. He needed that. But it felt like he was crossing some line he had put up yesterday.

“Is it?” America whispered. He caught England’s hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. 

“we...should...wash up” England cleared his throat.

“What if I don’t want to? What if...” He shifted his body in the water, England sliding a little and catching himself on America’s chest before he fell against him. “I want to forget about everything else outside this room? Just for a little while.” He brushed his nose against England’s, breath warm on England’s mouth.

“I-you” England swallowed “kiss me”

America didn’t hesitate, pulling England to him and pressing a warm kiss against his mouth. It didn’t take long before he pressed to deepen it.

By the old gods and the new England was still angry. He wasn't sure how long it was going to be before he wasn't, but staying away from the American nation when he was so near was just as agonizing. “Alfred” his fingernails scratched at the nape of his neck “too long. Alfred. I” he shook his head. “please” he kissed the blue-eyed blonde harshly, again and again until the other pulled back gasping for air. But he couldn't give the other reprieve. He feared the other would grow fed up with his temper or grow tired of his bed. America kept up with him.

“You’re gonna drown me,” America chuckled, pulling England’s head back. His fingers smoothed the strands he had pulled. “We’ve got to move if you’re gonna kiss me like that.”

“you wanted to stay”

“You said to just wash up and I’ve changed my mind about this tub. Hold tight.” America hooked his hands beneath England’s thighs and stood up from the water. The steam from the water kept the room warm. 

“Alright, whatever you want” England nodded, clutching America's shoulders. Carrying him over to the towels, England was able to grab one and drape it around them. His back landed against the sheets of the unmade bed, America’s weight on top of him. Breath catching in his chest England stared up at him “Alfred?” he croaked.

“What?” America pulled back slightly, his weight shifting and becoming more comfortable. Swallowing again England shook his head.

“its nothing”

Dropping onto his side, America settled England into the circle of his arms. He ran the towel over the water droplets still clinging to England’s skin. His lips brushed against England’s. “What’s nothing?”

England turned his head “exactly what I said”

“No, because less than a minute ago you were kissing me as if your existence depended on it and now you’re pulling away.” America sighed. He took England’s hand, smoothing his fingers against England’s palm until their hands intertwined. “We’re doing this because I want you and you want me and we can yell at each other later. And I couldn’t really sleep because I was in England and Arthur wasn’t right there next to me. I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“stop talking” England pressed his hand to America's mouth. America tried to start several muffled sentences, England’s hand tightening every time he tried to move it to speak. He gave up after a moment, the fingertips of his right hand trailing down England’s face and neck. He leaned forward to press their foreheads together. His body pressed up against England’s as he lay closer. He closed his eyes, hands warm at the small of England’s back.

“sleep Alfred” England murmured.

“Stay with me.”

“Of course” England nodded. He could send for his work to be delivered hear while the boy slept and still get his work done. He could do both. He could manage, while he dealt with these thoughts. 

“One more kiss.” 

“so demanding” England murmured and pressed a soft kiss to the youngers mouth. Smiling, America settled against England, reaching blindly for the blankets and pulling it up over them.

England stared at the wall behind America as the younger fell asleep. Younger. Someone who was just coming into potential and was finally working with others. Intimate relations with others. That fear once again reared its ugly head. England took a deep breath as it was suddenly hard to breathe. In his sleep, America pushed his face into the crook of England’s neck. He hummed a little in his sleep, a contented sound.

England gasped for breath, willing it to calm down. It took a couple of minutes but eventually, he got his breath under control. Reaching up he pinched the bridge of his nose, swallowing. He needed to relax. “Alfred” he murmured.

The motion woke America. “Arthur?” His eyes widened as England took another panicked breath. “What... what can I do?”

“you” England shook his head, eyes screwing shut “I can’t breathe” he tightened his grip around the other.

“You just need to breathe. You’re safe. I’ve got you,” America said, clearly thinking England was suffering from an episode of shell shock. “Just breathe with me.”

‘I've got you’ the phrase was almost exactly what he needed, it was his turn to hide his face in America's neck. Stroking his back, America made comforting sounds until England’s breathing evened out.

“What happened?” America asked, his fingers brushing through the hair on the back of England’s head.

“I don't know” he mumbled. 

“It’s okay. I’m here.” He pressed a kiss to the top of England’s head.

“For now” it slipped out.

“I have to go home sometime,” America said. England sighed in relief. That hadn't been something he meant to say but the other clearly misunderstood.

“just go back to sleep”

“You first.”

“I slept fine Alfred. I'm not the tired one”

“I can’t sleep now.” He yawned. “I just need some coffee.”

“you could try” England pressed, fingers pressing against America's sternum. “I didn't mean to wake you”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” 

England scowled “just try”

“Now who’s being demanding?” America chuckled, but stretched out, back against the sheets and the arm that wasn’t wrapped around England above his head. He yawned again, his eyes falling closed again.

“I told you” England murmured as America fell asleep almost immediately. England felt his own eyelids growing heavy, he shouldn't have used so much magic yesterday. He was out of shape apparently. Hed need to fix that.

***

“I have to take a call, sweetheart,” America said sometime later, untangling England’s limbs from his own. “Go back to sleep.”

“It's the bloody afternoon” England argued, rolling over to stare out the window in horror. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. “it's going to be too late to take a call back at your place”

“It’s morning there. I’ll probably be right back.” America kissed his cheek. “Don’t move.”

“out of the question Alfred,” England sat up.

He was pulling on his trousers and he looked up at him. “You said it, the day is almost gone. Might as well stay in bed.”

“as you get up to leave me” England decided to change tactics and sprawled back out across the bed, hands slipping down his hips. “you promised me things this morning and then fell asleep”

“My boss may hogtie me in the White House if I don’t talk to him. That would definitely make that sort of thing more difficult.” He grinned at him. “Just hold that thought. Ten minutes tops.”

“I think not” England shook his head “I'll just take care of it myself. You go on ahead then” he drawled, pulling up the blanket to hide his hands.

America continued buttoning his shirt. He looked away. “I’m gonna be thinking of you doing that while talking to my boss.”

“You do that, and then by the time I'm done and you're done with the phone call it will be my turn for work” he inhaled sharply. 

“You’re playing dirty.” America glanced at the door, looking pained. “Seriously, I’ll be right back.” He darted out of the door to the room before he could change his mind.

England stared at the ceiling, America never had just left him during a moment like that. He sat up pulling the blankets with him. He needed to get out. Rushing to the bathroom he grabbed a robe and hightailed it for the secret passage, the stone cold against his feet. A couple of hours in the woods is just what he needed.

***

“I’ve never seen you run away before. Find ways to avoid, you’d done that to me often enough. But runaway? This is a new one, mon ami.” England flinched, turning to look at France who was sitting casually in the library. England immediately regretted returning to the palace at all. 

“I went out for a ride. Is that a problem all of a sudden”

“It is when there’s a very loud American who decided to take out his frustration on whoever he could get a hold of. It’s not often I find both Matthew and Alfred in tears.” France crossed his arms, a frown pulled down at the corners of his mouth.

“what the bloody hell are you talking about?” his hands on his hips.

“From what I could gather from the shouting before I had to retreat was that you had disappeared when he told you to wait for him.” France stood up from his seat. “They aren’t in the middle of a rampage any longer as the palace guards got involved.”

England's eyes widened “what the hell does that have to do with Matthew”

“Who does Alfred always take out his misplaced emotions about you on? I thought he would leave Mathieu out of it after last night...” France shook his head. England pinched his nose 

“I leave for one moment and everything goes to hell in a handbasket.” he shook his head “Where are they?”

“Alfred left the palace. Mathieu is in my room, he’s all right now.” 

“Then Matthew it is” England sighed. It took no time at all before he was slipping inside Francis's guest room.

Canada was sitting in the window seat and he turned his head when the door opened. “Arthur, what is going on?”

“I've come to ask you that. Are you alright?” he shut the door behind him.

“I’ve been handling Alfred my whole life. This is not the worst fight we’ve ever had, not by a long shot.” He offered England a smile. “I’m worried about you... and him. He’s going through a lot and I know you are, too.”

“I am fine I didn't mean to be gone so long I got lost in the forest and my mind. I needed a recharge”

“No, it’s... I mean...” Canada’s voice dropped low as he muttered a few words.

“Matthew what have I told you about mumbling. Dictation. Speak up!”

Canada flushed. “It’s a delicate question that I’m not sure if I should ask or if it’s any of my business. Alfred... are you trying to put him off?”

England frowned, confusion furrowing his brow “whatever do you mean?”

“He’s... well, he’s said that... you know that he gets insecure about you. He covers it with a lot of bravadoes, but yours is the only good opinion he cares about when you get down to it.”

“so he yelled at you because he was upset that I went for a walk while he was on the phone?” England bristled.

“He wasn’t yelling at me, more he was yelling about how you left him when he said he would be right back.” Canada wrapped his arms around himself. “I yelled at him. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

“oh my” England rubbed at his temples “I can't do this today.” he sighed “Matthew I am sorry he is bothering you about this. It has nothing to do with you and I will speak to him when he comes back”

“Things between you two always becomes my problem and probably always will be. I’m used to it, eh?” Canada shrugged. England stared at him, lips pressing into a thin line.

“well, that's not going to be the case anymore. I shall see you at supper” he yanked the door open and swept from the room. He had work to do. Something to keep his mind busy until he could give a piece to America.

***

America returned to his room after being on the telephone for the better part of the day. In fact, the only reason the barrage had stopped was that the line was commandeered by one of his ambassadors. He went back to the palace, considering getting his luggage and finding a hotel. A cough stuck in his chest as he came into his room, the Depression still not over. He rubbed at his face, tired. He paused when he got to his room. The trays and carts had been cleared away, but the roses had been left. He plucked one of the long stems out of the vase and held it to his nose, dropping down on the edge of the bed. He touched the petals, smoothing their softness between his fingers.

“I thought that you were going to miss supper” England was leaning against the frame of the hidden doorway.

America’s shoulders hunched. He’d figured England would avoid him. “I ate at the embassy.”

England sighed “I even was having a private supper for the two of us set up” 

“I was hungry.” He stood up, the rose still in his hands as he walked towards the window.

“well, I'll still have them send up both deserts. The maids are going to move your luggage in the meantime”

“Why are the maids moving my luggage?” America asked. He looked up at the glass of the window. He could just make out England’s reflection.

“into my chambers, I have more nations coming and there is no point in having an empty chamber for the sake of it”

“Why? So you don’t have to go far to try and humble me?”

“excuse me?” England frowned, stepping out of the door and walking up behind him.

“What was that this morning?”

“what are you on about?”

“I’m talking about how I told you I would be right back and you left.” America turned to face him. “Not only did you leave, but you disappeared for the better part of a day.”

“I'm sorry about that I lost track of time in the forest”

“Why did you go in the first place?”

“you had a phone call with the white house. Who knew how long that was going to take. I needed a walk so I figured two birds with one stone” England shrugged.

America shook his head and walked around him. “I can’t even take that lie seriously. When I tell you something, I mean it.”

“it's not a lie Alfred” England frowned “you went to work and I needed a walk so I went”

“And when I tell you I will be right back, I mean it!” America tossed the flower onto the end of the bed. “You didn’t want to wait for me. I want to know why.”

“Because you were busy and I needed a walk I needed to think so I took the chance” England’s teeth clicked.

“You were only apologizing for yelling, not for what you said.” America looked at him. “Tell me it’s not true.” 

England leveled his gaze on the other “yes. I apologized for throwing things and for yelling but not for what I think. My people are pissed and rightfully so”

“It’s not my fault that your former king loves her more than he loves you.” His voice cracked, wavering at the end. “That is not my fault,” he repeated.

England bristled “fine it's not your fault!” he spat. America's phrasing hurt.

“Then why? If you know that, why are you running away from me?” America stared up at the ceiling. “I thought we were... that you... that just maybe we were in the same place.”

“I'm standing right heard England gestured at himself “I went on a bloody fucking walk!”

“Then go for another one until you want to tell me what you’re afraid of.” 

England stared at him “excuse me?” he shook his head as panic took his chest “we get in one fight and we are done?!” it was hard to breathe again. 

“When did I say we were done? Arthur, we’ve been at war with each other and we weren’t done! If you think you’re gonna be able to get me to stop loving you... why are you making that face? Is it because I said the ‘l’ word? I’m not afraid of it like you are.”

England's hands balled into fists at his sternum, mouth, and throat dry. America had told him to leave, he had been right the boy was getting tired of him. It was too damn hard to breathe!. 

“Arthur, can you hear me?”

It shouldn't have been a big deal, it wasn't like America directly said that he was leaving him. Like Edward had the throne. Right? They were still salvageable. Now the damn room was spinning! Blast it all! What was he supposed to do now!? Why was the floor so damn hard? He should have thicker carpet installed. His knees and right temple were going to be sore.

***

When he saw England fall he’d moved forward to try and catch him, but he hadn’t gotten there quite in time. He went to him immediately, fingers checking his pulse. It was rapid but strong. “Arthur!” 

Damn his head hurt, but that was something that was easier to focus on. The tension in his chest loosened. Whether it was all completely him or the English people had been in a particular uproar, who was he kidding it was both. “bloody hell that smarts” 

“Is something happening?” He gathered England into his arms. 

“no” he rubbed at his temple. 

“Talk to me.”

“I don't know” he pinched his nose. 

“I’ll take you to your room.” He scooped up England into his arms.

“no I can do it” he protested, yet his arms wrapping around his neck.

“Not after you just collapsed.”

“I don't want your help if you are just going to leave again,” he said firmly 

“Arthur...” America paused. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“I don't know!” this didn't happen to him. Hadn't 

happened to him. What was he supposed to make of it? This isn't normal just because of someone leaving his bed.

Sighing, America turned around and dropped England onto the bed in his own room. “Fine.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’ll just keep an eye on you here.” 

England scowled at him, rubbing at his head “don't just fucking drop me you git!”

“It’s a much softer landing than your last one. What do you need?”

England looked away but reached up, motioning for America to come over. Scooting closer, America let England wrap his arms around him. England wasted no time, ignoring the surprised grunt from the other as he pulled the American on top of him, pressing a kiss to his mouth. Better. Being surrounded by true others weight helped calm him down. He took another kiss before the other could respond. “that” he mumbled.

“I was offering you that this morning when I got off my call.” He kissed England this time. England's jaw clenched slightly as he held back a retort, instead, he just kissed him back, hands sliding through America's hair with a little sigh. America couldn’t escape the thought that England was trying to distract him. A completely awesome way to be sure, but one all the same. What wasn’t he telling him? “What are we doing?”

“kissing” England breathed, lips making a trail to the youngers pulse “I know it's been a year since the last I could touch you but don't tell me you've forgotten”

“I don’t forget what it feels like to touch you.”

“yes but I love reminders” England murmured, hands sliding down his back, fingers making their way along the top of his trousers, back to front. 

“A reminder, huh?” America said, hitching one of England’s knees over his hip. He wanted to remind him of the morning again, where the apology had meant something. Whatever was going on, America hoped it would come out. Let me in. I can help.

“yes. You've been neglecting your Queen” England teased the memory of years ago, where they had lain about with no tasks and had spun tales of an alternate time and universe. Forgoing the pants England worked on the buttons of Americas shirt as his teeth found that sensitive spot behind America's ear.

Pulling England’s shirt tails from his trousers he slid his hands beneath, pushing up his undershirt so he could put his hands on the skin of his belly. He pressed his mouth against England’s neck.

Murmurs of approval slipped from England's mouth, legs wrapping around the other's waist so that he could remove the fabric confine the other legs. “Alfred”

Pulling back to work on England’s trousers, he pressed his mouth against the skin on England’s belly. Returning to England’s arms after they were skin on skin, America pressed a warm kiss against his mouth.

“on your back” England ordered.

Rolling them, America pulled England back to him, kissing him fiercely.

“which way cowboy?” England murmured as he pulled back to stare at the other from his perch on the taller hips.

“Inside you,” America said, his hands sliding up England’s thighs to take a firm grip on him. 

“crude!’ England covered America's eyes so he couldn't look up at him and see his embarrassment. 

America grinned. “You asked. That’s what I want.” His hands slid up England’s sides and he tugged him down for another kiss. The kiss escalated from thoughtful touches to frenzied bites, teeth find skin, fingers sweeping, squeezing, bruising. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and sex, heavy, yet did nothing to muffle pleas and shouts.

***

England listened to the steady beat of America's heart in his chest as he dozed on top of the larger man, satisfied and tired. He hummed quietly to himself. Supper would be arriving soon and he had worked up an appetite with the days' events.

***

America couldn’t sleep. He hated that feeling. They had eaten dinner together, flirting over the desserts until they had ended up in bed again. England’s breath was mostly even, but when it wasn’t America wondered if England felt just as restless. He lay at America’s side, resting in the crook of his arm, head on America’s shoulder. They needed to talk and England was avoiding it for some reason. What had started as just one nonintervention law was becoming a set of Neutrality Acts. He was being told to pull back and he knew that England wasn’t going to like it. Nor the reason they were being passed in the first place.

The American public passively blamed Britain for the Great War and the subsequent problems. America had seen some of the books himself. That England was trying to trick him into being an ally at the time had been there, but he’d denied it so vehemently. Yet, if anything else happened... his hands were tied with more than just opinion now. America shifted, turning his body to England’s. The world felt too heavy like something was going to give at some point and bring something awful crashing down. 

“tummy ache? Did you finally eat too much?” England grunted as he was moved by the movement of the other.

“You didn’t get me any ice cream,” America teased, voice slightly muffled by the pillow. “Can’t sleep.”

“would you like a sleeping draught?” England wormed his way back into the others embrace stubbornly.

“No, if I can’t sleep there are worse ways to do it. Usually, I’m alone.” He buried his nose in England’s hair. “I worry about you over here, you know.”

“what do you mean?”England murmured, pressing a kiss to America's shoulder.

“What if...” Suddenly, his stomach turned at the thought. He didn’t want to talk about this right now, but it lodged in his throat. “There’s just a lot going on you know and it feels... I don’t know, it feels like a powder keg.”

“I thought we agreed on no politics while we are in bed” England pointed out, “apparently I didn't do my job well enough if you still have enough energy to talk”

“Promise me we’ll talk about it tomorrow.” 

“I...will try”

“I need this, Arthur.” America adjusted his hold, hoping that England could feel how much he cared. Listen to me this time. Please.

“Alright alright,” he murmured.

“Good.” America pressed a kiss to England’s brow. “Now what was that about doing your job and wearing me out?” 

“you arse” England scowled put pressed a kiss to his mouth. America kissed him back, grateful that England was as safe as he could be in his arms.


	20. Bury it Deeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War is looming on the horizon and America knows that he won't be able to come immediately. England can't bear to think about it. Where do they stand when they can't even speak about the one thing that could change things between them forever?

_July 6, 1938_

_Telegram_

_Washington D.C. to London_

 

**_Arthur._ **

**_We really need to talk. Find the time._ **

**_Alfred._ **

 

_July 7, 1938_

_Telegram_

_London to Washington D.C._

 

**Alfred.**

**Next time you visit.**

**Arthur.**

 

*******

 

_September 9, 1938_

_Washington, D.C._

America paced the room, rubbing the back of his head as he tried to think of what he wanted to tell England. He could hear the sound of the embassy staff outside his office, hoping that they would warn him before England waltzed in. Things were tenuous in Congress and it really hadn’t been the best time to travel. It was the first time he’d been able to talk his boss into the trip though. They’d talked on the phone, but England always seem content to talk about nothing and would dive around anything else. He paused on the edge of the carpet. He could hear a car idling on the street.

“The traffic hear is bloody awful.” A complaint drifted through the window in a thick British accent as the doors opened and slammed shut. When America peered around the curtains England was staring right up at the window, his lips curling upwards at the sight of him.

America felt his mouth curve in response. That was a good sign. As he stepped away, trying to still think of what to say, he paused. What if it was because England had heard the rumor that was started in France by the American ambassador to France? The one that had blown up in the papers as an assurance that the United States would join with England and France should it come to war. It was impossible to know for sure. The door opened. England was announced and America put the biggest smile he could muster on his face.

“Go mingle with the other diplomats for a bit. I need to speak to Master Jones alone,” he told the four men following him. With curt nods, the suited men listened and England pushed the door shut after them. “Alfred.”

America stepped forward, still smiling. “Good to see you, Arthur. I would have come sooner, but you know how it is.”

“Well hello. Look at that manners and everything. It indeed has been a long time,” England snorted, hands propping on his hips.

The good mood was almost worrying. America stepped closer so he could lean in for a kiss on England’s cheek. “I gotta keep surprising you.”

“Keep me on my toes.” England allowed the kiss on his cheek, but grasped America’s chin between thumb and forefinger, stealing a quick one from his mouth. “I suppose that will be fine.”

_Stay focused, Jones,_ America told himself. “Do you want to take a seat?”

“Not particularly. I have been sitting much too long today already.” England stretched as if to emphasize his statement. “Travel these days is much faster but still far too long.”

“Arthur... you should get comfortable.” England’s hands were distracting as they came down from the stretch and around his neck.

“But I am, Alfred,” England pointed out, now hip to hip. “We have a good fifteen minutes to chat amongst ourselves before the diplomats come back.”

England’s mouth was warm against his own. It was only fifteen minutes, right? It had waited this long, a few more minutes couldn’t hurt. His arms wrapped around England’s waist, lifting him up on his tiptoes to kiss him again. England hummed against him in quiet delight, tensions he didn't know he had relaxing.

“Alfred,” he murmured, fingers slipping through America's hair. “I'm here for two days, let's disappear a bit.”

“We have work to do,” he murmured back, undermining his own words by deepening the kiss immediately afterwards.

Submitting, England melted into the kiss, one hand drifting down to settle on America's hip, a small sound in the back of his throat. He ignored the surprise that shifted America's stance, but responded in kind to the noise of delight in the other’s chest. America held England close to him, focus falling over him. The little worries that had plagued him over what England was doing so far away faded away. England was here and he could keep him safe when he was right next to him. He hoisted him a little and pressed a soft kiss to England’s pulse. It was difficult to do more since England continued to insist on starching his shirt collars. He chuckled slightly, wanting to ruin the prim and proper facade.

“Don't even think about it, boy,” England warned. “You’re going to wrinkle both our suits.”

“You kissed me first, sweetheart,” America said, pressing another kiss on his mouth.

“Perhaps all I wanted was a simple kiss,” he drawled.

“That I can do, if that’s all you want.” America grinned at him and then slowed, the way he felt whenever England was close to him like this curling in his stomach. The rapping on the door, pulled him from it. “Just a sec,” he called out, stepping back so he could straighten England’s tie.

“Well, bollocks.” England scowled. “I wanted to see how strong your desk is. Give you something to think about while you try to work after I am gone.”

“Thought you just wanted a simple kiss?” America snuck in one more before stepping back from England and moving towards the door.

“I said perhaps.” He smoothed his hands over the front of his jacket and turned his attention to opening up his case and pulled out documents. “Let's get this over with.”

***

America watched England’s face during the meeting. Neither of them had much cause to say anything, the human delegates mostly traded information about the state of affairs and their hopes for cooperation. There was only so much that could be promised. America would have to wait to tell England that his boss was working on a replacement for the Neutrality Acts that tied his hands. Germany and Italy were up to something, but America hoped England would wait. If “cash and carry” could pass, things would be different. England didn’t look at America, an unreadable expression on his face. The delegates continued to banter back and forth until England snapped the clasp of his case loudly. Several eyes turned to him.

“I say we break for the midday meal.” It was not a suggestion, but a command. At the severity of England’s tone, there were a few muttered suggestions for where to take the meal or when to reconvene after everyone ate on their own. Papers rustling, people left the room.

“Where do you want to go eat?” America asked, not getting up from his seat yet.

“I don't particularly care, I just couldn’t listen anymore.”

“Did you have questions about something? A lot of it is old news, but... we haven’t really had a chance.” 

“No.” He stretched. “Everything is going well for once, considering the circumstances.”

Relief washed through America. He’s been expecting an explosion. “I think it’ll work out. So... did you want to eat in public or private? We could always send someone out to get something.”

“I'll leave you to make that decision.” He leaned back in his chair, fingers folding over his belly.

“I’ll get someone to bring us something. Be right back.” He stepped out and waved down a secretary. The woman walked over and soon she was off to get some sandwiches. He closed the door and turned back to England.

“Good, I'm famished.” England rocked onto his toes before moving to peer out the window. America walked over to him, leaning close to his back. He watched the street as well, at the people going about their business.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“I'm just... not thinking really.” England shrugged. America wrapped an arm around his chest.

“You usually accuse me of doing that.” England leaned against him and America wondered at the change. A hundred years ago and more, England had always felt so incredibly unmoveable. There had been softnesses, but they’d been few and far between. Maybe he had changed, or just maybe he was showing a side now that America had never gotten to see. Leaning his head back England pressed his nose just underneath America's jaw with a deep breath. It was the subtle scent of fresh grass.

“I'm so glad everyone is coming to their senses,” he murmured. When he had heard that the United States was going to back Great Britain in lieu of another great war a weight lifted from his shoulders.

“I hope they keep listening.”

“We finally agree on something.”

“I just hope the misinformation doesn’t set me back. My ambassador to France got a little too fired up.”

“Misinformation?” England pressed a kiss to America’s jawline, as relaxed as he could be in an office. He couldn't wait to retreat to one of America's houses and curl up on a couch.

“I thought some of them were going to blow their tops like in a cartoon when they heard that he’d made comments that sounded like we would declare war. It doesn’t look like it’ll come to that anyway.”

“I guess that would make sense.”

“Congress is pretty torn about it. You should hear the military guys talk, you’d think we were discussing selling me to you.”

“I don't have to buy what's already mine,” England snorted.

“What would your prime minister say if he knew you belonged to me, too?” He pressed a kiss to England’s hairline as a knock on the door signalled that lunch had arrived. America stepped away to go and get it, giving England a moment to think of an answer.

“He would laugh.”

America came back with the wrapped packages and sat them down on the conference table. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“That would entirely depend on the day.” England turned, sitting and grabbing one of the packages.

“Do you think I’d like him? I only met him that one time at your place. He had some other job then didn’t he?” America tore into his own sandwich. 

“Neville? Did you meet him?” England paused, taking a careful bite and swallowing before counting. “I'm not sure. Many are conflicted over him. Ever since the Munich agreement.”

“He doesn’t sound like a guy who wants to fight. Maybe he’ll keep you out of it.”

“That would be preferable, but unlikely.”

America leaned back in his chair, chewing thoughtfully. “If you stay out of it, none of this talk will matter.”

“As long as that Hitler remembers where his place is I won't have to.” He folded the paper around his half eaten sandwich and pushed it to the other. His appetite had been hit and miss as of late.

“Yeah...” America looked at the half eaten sandwich, then at England at the other side of the table. “Come here.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because we’ve probably got twenty minutes before they get back and I want to hold you for that long until we have to talk about Hitler, Mussolini, and all those guys some more.”

“Fine, fine.” England made a show of extreme effort in coming over to hide his embarrassment. America pulled him into his lap as he came over to him. He pressed a kiss to England’s cheek, settling his arms around England’s waist.

“We’re the only two people in the whole world for the next fifteen minutes, okay?” America said.

“I'd go bloody mad, but all right,” England bemoaned, words dripping with sarcasm.

“That’s why it only lasts fifteen.” America leaned his forehead against the side of England’s head. He smelled like tea and sea water. It made America smile.

“We could be the only ones I suppose. As long as I get my rose garden.”

“Sure thing. I’d like to watch you garden, it’s been a long time.” He slid his fingers between England’s.

“I think I may have finally mastered that blue section by the far gate, remember that day I promised you could see it. It was bloody cold and you-” His voice paused. “Forgot what I said.” Wrong America.

“You could take me there. I’ll remember this time, there’s not two people in there. Most days anyway.”

“Yes, I think that would be good.” He looked back at him. “I'm glad you've decided to stand by me,” he admitted quietly.

America swallowed, no response forming. He merely adjusted his hold on England so he couldn’t see his face any longer. “When can I come and see the roses?”

“Whenever you like.” England leaned back into the hold with a hum.

“I’m gonna try soon. I’ll hop on a flight.”

“I'm envious of how much spare time you have.”

“I don’t. I’m just gonna try and finish what I can before I leave without permission.” America took a deep breath. “It might mean they might have me followed around by the FBI after that, but who isn’t followed around by those guys. It’s kind of what they do.” America chuckled.

“As long as they stay out of the palace and my grounds.”

“Oh, I can lose them. Don’t worry about that.”

“Good, I'll remember that.” England turned to grin at him.

“Why? You planning on getting me into trouble?” He smiled back.

“Just you wait.”

“Can’t wait to find out.” His fingers moved along England’s jaw and he pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Good.” England smiled. “You need to finish eating before the meeting starts.”

“Aren’t you going to finish?”

“I am full.”

“All right then.” America loosened his hold on England so he could reach for the food. He’d finished before a knocking came at the door and the delegates reentered.

***

“So, where are we going tonight?”

“We could go out or go to my place. Which sounds better?” They were walking down the street, the bustle of the capital around them as the evening began to fall. The fall weather had turned many of the leaves to yellows and golds.

“Right now, yours.”

 

America smiled at him, bustling England around a crowd of people who had glanced England’s way when they heard his voice. He could see a newspaper folded under one of their arms. The news hadn’t been overly favorable towards the British lately. “Yeah, let’s go. We can catch a streetcar and go to my townhouse.”

 

“As long as your cabinet is not as dry as it once was.”

“No way, I brought it all back after they passed the Twenty-first Amendment.”

“Brilliant,” England hummed as they hailed a cab. It took a bit to maneuvering to get out of the heart of the city and into the larger homes. The capital faded into Virginia. England began to recognize the scenery, the old large trees. Some still held stubbornly to summer, their leaves green. The car stopped in front of a row of connected homes, the electric lights flickering on as dusk was falling.

“I hope you don’t mind leftovers for dinner. I was kind of distracted and didn’t think to have someone come in and cook,” America said as they entered the house and he settled England’s luggage in the front hall.

“Or I can cook for you. It has been awhile.” England shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the rack.

“My leftovers are great, I’ve still got some prime rib and mashed potatoes.” America caught England as he started towards the kitchen. The house had made another leap towards modernity in its decoration. The few hints of the older styles that remained made England feel slightly wistful.

“But you love my cooking.” England scowled at him over his shoulder. “Don't pick me up!”

America hoisted England off his feet with a laugh, carrying him into the living room. “There are some things I love,” he said, settling England on the couch. He reached over to turn on the wireless, music drifting out of it after a moment of fiddling with the knob. England stared at the box for a moment, wistful for his violin.

“Well, unless you're hungry I am not at the moment so there is no rush.”

“That’s good.” America smiled at him, leaning over and hooking his fingers in England’s tie. “Because I’ve missed you and that meeting was too long.”

“Terribly long, I agree.” England arched a brow. “Although, the missing me thing, I feel you've done a terrible job at showing me that.”

America tugged England a little closer. “Missed you mighty bad.” He kissed England, his body shifting so he could press him into the couch cushions.

“Grammar,” England mumbled,arms wrapping tightly around the other’s neck in anticipation.

“Don’t care.” The kisses were warm, hands moving slowly. The music wrapped them up as they exchanged lazy kisses, small teases for what would surely come later. It took England a moment to realize that the radio had changed with the chiming of the clock. A voice had taken over and America pulled back. “It’s my boss.”

“So?” England pressed a kiss to his pulse, fingers undoing the top button. “You can see him anytime. I'm here now.”

“He usually doesn’t talk long.” America reached over England’s head to turn the dial on the radio to make the voice ring out more clearly.

“I would like to address the people of the United States about their concern about the growing conflict in Europe and where America will stand should tensions increase...”

America’s fingers were on the dial once again, the voice becoming more muted. “Let’s see what else is on.” He reached for the tuning dial.

“No, no, I want to listen now.” England grabbed his hands back. “Multitasking.”

As the volume was turned back up, Roosevelt’s voice came back in clearly. America pressed his face against England’s neck. “...there have been rumors that the United States has declared for Great Britain and for France should this growing conflict come to war. It was a compelling rumor and certainly speaks to the generosity of our people’s intentions. I have come to tell you to not be concerned that our fathers, sons, brothers will be marching to war, these are rumors only...”

“Ex-fucking-scuse me?” England shot up,staring at the box. “Your president is daft!”

America had been bumped upwards by England’s sudden motion and he straightened his glasses. “He was talking to Congress today. That must be what they decided.”

England turned to stare at him. “You're telling me you didn't know a single thing about this?”

“I didn’t know he was going to say anything over the radio.”

“You-” England's voice grew quiet as the pieces clicked together. “You knew.”

“I tried to tell you earlier.” America reached out to him. “Arthur... I’m buried under the Neutrality Acts, my boss is working on an alternative plan, but right now... I wouldn’t be allowed to help you if you went to war right now.”

England held up his hand. “Don't.” Swinging his legs off the couch he straightened his clothes.

“Where are you going?”

“To the guest room, I'm ready to turn in.”

America pulled his glasses off his face, rubbing at his eyes and then putting his head in his hands. “Okay. Good night, Arthur.” His words were slightly muffled, hurt evident in his voice.

Part of England wanted to feel bad, to comfort the other. But America had lied straight to his face. All day, through all the meetings. Letting him believe... Striding across the room, he grabbed his luggage. “I'll be hailing a cab in the morning, so do not bother waiting up.”

“Arthur...” America stood up and followed him out of the room. “You never wanted to listen when I was trying to tell you. This is not all my fault.”

“So today at the White House when I said I was happy about it all and you decided to remain silent? Or just now when you wanted to listen to the talk, all of sudden once you realized what he was going to say you wanted to turn it off?” England's voice was even, hiding his anger.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Because letting me hear it that way while trying to fuck me on the couch is better?”

America flushed bright red. “You’re the one who is always starting something to shut me up. I’ve been trying to talk to you about what’s been going on for years and you distract me with sex! My people saying they don’t want a war isn’t new! I’ve been telling you I’m done with wars for a decade! You just don’t want to hear it!”

England shook his head. “No, Alfred. More often than not half of our disagreements are problems from both sides. But today I will take no blame for this. You had a chance in the meetings. When we were sitting quietly and then when we got here. You let me say all of those things and kept quiet. You deliberately tried to hide it by changing the radio station today when you realized what was going to happen. Of course the last time you visited London I didn't want to hear anything I was dealing the the upheaval of my monarchy, the abdication of my king over a prostitute! I was busy! But today Alfred. Don't you dare say any of it was me. Today was all you, Alfred. You lied!”

“I’m busy too! I thought you were listening during the meetings! They outlined what cash and carry would mean. What part of only selling war material to you says that I’m putting on my uniform and picking a fight!” America stepped forward. “My people would choose you, they just don’t want to get tricked into another fight that isn’t ours.”

“You didn't say anything this afternoon and you tried to hide it just now on the couch. You, Alfred. Not your people. You.”

“And you, Arthur, never hide things from me.”

“Just two seconds ago I admitted that we've both fucked up in the past. But we aren't discussing the past, we are discussing today.” England's hand tightened over his bag. “I'd like to use your telephone please.”

“It’s in the hall. For what it’s worth I want you to stay... so we can actually talk.” America ran a hand through his hair when England didn’t answer. “I’ll get you money for a hotel.” He walked away, going up the stairs. England could hear something tipping over and landing hard on the floor followed by a curse and the coughing that he barely noticed anymore.

Putting down his bag, England popped into the hall and picked up the telephone, phoning for the operator. “Hello, I need a direct line to Warsaw, Poland, please. Yes... yes, I have the extension.Yes, I'll accept the charges.” He waited patiently for the lines to connect, listening to America move around. He didn’t come down immediately, apparently straightening up whatever he had knocked over. England could hear his footsteps on the stairs as a sleepy voice came on the other end of the line.

“This better, like, be important.”

“Feliks... before I give you the news... I will come to your aid if it comes to that. Even if it means declaring war on Ludwig.”

“He’s not that stupid.” Poland yawned. “Why, did that asshole say something to you? Where are you right now?”

“I'm at Alfred's.”

“Don’t you have better things to do than wake me up in the middle of the night?” Another yawn.

“He refuses to be part of the war when it happens. He will not offer support.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. “Arthur, there, like, isn’t a war.” It was as though saying it would make it true just from sheer will.

“Feliks you know as well as I. Not yet.”

“What are you going to do about him? You’ve got to, like, convince him or something. He won’t even supply you, if not anyone else?”

“He will send war materials and supplies, but nothing else.”

“Do you think he means it, or he’s just posturing to trick Ludwig?”

“His president came out and announced it.”

Silence again. “That’s his President, you know he doesn’t always follow those orders. He’s hard to pin down.” It was clear Poland wanted to hold onto anything.

“Like I said don't worry, Feliks.” England's hand tightened into a fist against the wall. “We've been tracking down as much German information as possible. Detectives in multiple nations... I have got it handled. I'm the British Empire,” he said firmly. Just last year Hitler was recorded saying ‘Britain is our great enemy’. He does not want to go to war with me. He's a smart man. He knows just how foolish that would be. I have sworn to uphold your independence.”

“You shouldn’t have to do it alone. Appeal to him.”

England's laugh was bitter. “That is something I am used to... I just didn't want you to hear it from someone else... and I know Toris is visiting so... you wouldn't be alone... I am sorry to wake you.”

“Arthur, like, you don’t have to be alone. Come visit me, huh? You know, in case you can’t.”

“I am overdue for a visit aren't I?” A strained smile took over his face. “I'll have to come by when I return to Europe. But honestly, go back to bed. I need to turn in soon over here.”

“Arthur, ask him again. For me.” A long pause. “Good night.”

“I will... good night, Feliks.” He hung up the phone, forehead pressed against the wall as he suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. “Fuck.”

America cleared his throat. “I can recommend some places to stay... since you don’t want to be here.”

England's teeth clenched and he took a deep breath. “I'm staying.”

“Okay.” America said. His footsteps stopped on the rug of the hall. “Arthur, I...” He stopped.

“What?” England peered up at him, straightening his posture.

“I wasn’t trying to hide it from you. I may not be able to go to war, but I want to support you where I can.”

England watched him warily. He needed to convince him. But that was going to get him nowhere tonight. He would have to show him, convince him. “Fine”

Surprise crossed America’s face. “Fine?”

“Yes, fine.” England unbuttoned his collar, and another, dragging his other hand through his hair. “I'm starving.”

“Leftovers?” America stepped away toward the kitchen.

“Fine. However I would like to wash up.”

“You know where it is.”

“Perfect.” England grabbed his bag and headed for the stairwell.

***

America heard the shower turn on as he began to prep supper. Twenty minutes had passed since mashed potatoes and ribs were hot and England still hadn't come down. The shower was off and as he moved up the stairs the scent of tobacco drifted down the stairs coming from his room and not the guest room. Stepping around the corner he found England looking out the window, only wearing a pair of loosely fitted trousers barely clinging to his hips as he smoked.

Pausing in the doorway, America looked at him, eyes moving over him. He leaned against the door frame. “Are you still hungry? It’s ready.”

“Yes.” England peered over his shoulder, pressing the cigarette to his mouth. “I suppose I should come down to the dining room.” The trousers slipped a tad.

America’s eyes followed the line of exposed skin. He took a deep breath and pulled his gaze up to England’s face. “What are you doing?”

“I'm smoking.” He gestured with the cigarette. “Am I not allowed to anymore?”

“You can. Aren’t you cold?”

“No. Quite warm, although I shall cover up as it makes you uncomfortable. Give me a moment.”

America looked away. “I’ve seen you a lot more bare than that. I just feel like you’re testing me. Who did you talk to on the phone?”

“Test you about what?”

“I don’t know, but this...” He gestured to England’s casual posture. “Feels like a test.”

England frowned, temper starting. “Because I wanted to be comfortable and smoke a damn cigarette?”

“No,” America said, his own brow furrowing. “The food is downstairs. I want to go to bed.” He leaned up and walked over to his dresser, pulling open a drawer.

“So we aren't eating we are going to bed now?”

“You can eat. I’m going to bed.” He pulled out a pair of pajamas. “It’s been a long day.”

“Then I shall turn in as well.”

“Arthur... I need a moment. Go. Eat.” America looked at him. “I’m gonna go change.”

“Really?” England scowled and with a frustrated huff strode from the room, naked feet loud on the stairs.

America pushed the drawer shut hard. He changed without much care for the fact that he left his suit strewn across the floor. He crawled under his blankets, arms wrapped around one of the pillows as he squeezed his eyes shut. What had England decided with whoever he talked to? _Are you trying to manipulate me? Do you know that’s what they say you did the last time?_ He pressed his face into the pillow, hoping that sleep would come before England came back upstairs.

***

England tucked the food back into the icebox, having no appetite. His anger and stress putting a chokehold on it. He had decided to stay with Alfred, not the United States. At least try to figure it out and yet it seemed like America didn't want to deal with it after all. Crushing the burning stick in the sink England eyed the couch and the blanket draped over its back. Fine. America could have his space. He snapped his fingers to prompt the logs waiting in the fireplace to life. He was chilly yet he had hoped the remedy lie with the boy upstairs, but as England curled onto the couch and grabbed the blanket it appeared no longer so. He had tried, pushed his pride beneath him, tried to relent and separate Alfred from America like the boy had asked and it had been flung back in his face. The ball was in America's court now.

***

The clock was tolling midnight, when America pushed himself up from his bed. He couldn’t sleep anyway. The knowledge that England was in his house was too much. The fact that he had hurt him, even unintentionally gnawed at his consciousness. He wandered to the guest room door, surprised to find it open. Upon looking inside, he noticed that the bed sheets hadn’t even been pulled down. With a twinge, he wondered if England had left after all and hurried down the stairs. A breath of relief came when he saw that England was on the couch. He came over to him, standing there for a moment. England’s bare shoulder poked above the blanket and America found his fingers on one of the small freckles there. “You’re gonna get sick sleeping down here.” He gathered him up, blankets and all, heading back towards the stairs.

The jostling of the stairwell pulled England from his sleep, eyes half open as he looked over to see America’s arms wrapped around him. “Whatever are you doing?” The words slurred into one another.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch when there’s a bed.”

“I won't take your bed.”

“You don’t have to.”

England’s mouth opened to argue but he closed it, once again relaxing into the other’s arms as America brought them into the room. “What does that mean exactly?”

“You can sleep in the guest room, or you can sleep next to me.” America adjusted him in his arms. “I wasn’t lying when I said I missed you.”

“I'm not walking all the way to the guest room,” he muttered.

“Guess that solves that problem, then.” America felt a weight lift off his chest, England wasn’t so mad that he didn’t want to be near him. He was comfortable and warm. He settled him into his bed, before climbing in beside him. He kept a little space between them, returning to his pillow, wondering if England would reach out. Hoping that he would.

England huffed, frustration in his voice. “Good night, Alfred.”

“Good night,” America said, disappointment curling in his chest. It didn't take long before England returned to sleep once more. The days travel and events wearing on him. Breathing evening out and his body relaxing into the mattress in a familiar manner to the American nation. America rolled over to look at him, it was soothing to watch the rise and fall of his chest. His hand stretched out between them, but he couldn’t bear to risk waking him up. He could just feel the heat of England’s body on the sheets. Slowly, his body pulled him down into sleep, unknowingly drawing him closer to England.

***

The arms wrapped around his waist let England know that he had woken up first today, an odd thing but he would take it. Streams of fall morning sunlight struggled through the curtains to the bed and England hummed in appreciation. Turning in the man's embrace he talked himself further into the overly large hold, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. He would stubbornly deal with THAT in the office.

America’s body was relaxed against his own, his breath ruffling England’s hair. He was dreaming, England could feel it in the small motions of his body.

“Alfred, you have to wake.” England poked at America’s ribs.

A little sound of frustration, slipped through America’s lips. “Not yet.”

“There are things to do.” England prodded.

“I know.” America shifted, moving so his nose could brush against England’s. “We’ll argue again today for our people.”

“Don't talk about that here,” England warned, tension in his shoulders.

“That’s why I said not yet,” He smoothed his hands over England’s back. “I didn’t sleep well.”

England frowned. “Why not?”

“Stuff we can’t talk about in bed.” He closed his eyes and tried to settle against England once again.

“Of course,” England muttered and pulled him into a kiss.

America kissed him back, body pressing against his. His touches were affectionate and caring, smoothing his fingers over the skin of England’s back.

“Give me something to think about during that meeting.” England breathed, arching into the touch. His fingers ran down England’s back, hooking into the loose fitting trousers off over his hips. His mouth moved to England’s throat, teeth grazing over his pulse. America lost himself in the way England’s body moved against his own.

***

“Now, I am famished.” England blew smoke rings up into the sunlight streams through the curtain. He lazily stroked Alfred's thigh as the blue eyed blonde rested against the headboard.

“We could go try to find a bite.” America ran his fingers over the back of England’s neck. “We should probably get dressed regardless before some poor secretary is sent to get us.”

“Just lock the doors,” England sniffed, tapping the burning stick.

“You plan on keeping me here all day?”

“Are you going to complain?”

“Tomorrow. Not today.” America kissed the side of England’s head. “But we are avoiding... everything else.”

“Good, because that's the only way we will make it.”

America pulled back. “What do you mean?”

“To breakfast.” England sniffed. _And many other things._

“I guess I can see what we’ve got, then you don’t have to get dressed.”

“I can cook.”

“If you want. Just don’t burn my kitchen down okay?”

“Arse!” He kicked at him.

Catching him, America chuckled. He pulled England to his chest. “The taste of charcoal makes me remember the old days.”

“It does not taste like charcoal!”

“I guess not. It’s hard to describe.” He kissed him on the forehead. “But it’s you.”

“You are such an arse,”England muttered. “I'm not cooking, then.” He pulled away to finish smoking.

“We can cook together,” America offered, laying back against the pillows.

“No.” He shook his head. “Have one of your men pick us up something. We are going to be busy.”

“All right, I’ll make the call.” He leaned up and slid his legs over the side of the bed. Standing up, he stretched for a moment, before reaching down to pick up his nightshirt. “Be right back.”

“Yes, you do that. I am almost done with this cigarette.” America disappeared through the door, his footsteps quieting on the stairs, leaving England alone.

England allowed his head to drop back on the pillow with a sigh. This was going to be hard. America was going to be shocked when they finally got back into the office. Snuffing out the cigarette, England pulled the blanket over himself and rolled onto his belly. He could do it.

America came back and crawled into bed next to him. “I told them to just ring the bell.” He snuggled into England’s side. He pressed his nose into England’s hair, his arm draping across England’s back.

***

They lolled around for the better part of the morning, until the phone’s consistent ringing urged them up. America waited in the car for England to come downstairs. He hadn’t left like he’d said, but he had not unpacked his things either. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel. He felt impatient, but he wasn’t sure with what. With luggage in hand, England loped down the steps of the house and over to the car tossing it in the trunk.

“Well, time to run.”

America pulled away and was soon sliding into the traffic around the capital. America reached his hand off the gear shift for a moment, and brushed his fingers over the back of his hand. “Ready?”

“Or we would go for a drive?”

“I want to do that.” America said. “But we shouldn’t... this is big, Arthur”

England took a deep breath before looking at him. “Please.”

America hesitated, putting his hands back on the steering wheel. He took an abrupt turn at the next street, a few other drivers honking at him. The engine accelerated, and the white dome of the capitol building retreated behind them. “Where to?” America asked.

“Wherever, just not back there.”

“Done.” After an hour, America began to talk, showing off changes in the landscape that had happened since England had last come this way. They paused at a small gas station in the countryside, America getting out to check the engine as it had begun making a strange clicking along the road. It gave England a chance to get out and stretch his legs.

“Well, I guess I won't be leaving tomorrow morning if we are going this far out. You've effectively kidnapped the personified UK.”

“We’re on a drive,” America said, lifting the hood and inspecting the engine.

“Were,” England corrected as he came around to look as well.

“I just need to borrow some tools. We can turn around and go back if that’ll keep me from being accused of causing an international incident. If you think Alistair and the rest of your brothers will get on my back about it.” He threw England a teasing smile as he waved over to the attendant who had come out to see what he needed.

“Considering we are already terribly late we might as just follow through.” He propped himself on the edge of the bumper. Digging through the tool box that was offered, America went after the problem with the wrench, wincing when the engine parts were still too hot. He popped his burned finger in his mouth and looked around.

“Well, we’re not going anywhere until I can fix this. Hey, is there a place to while away some time?” he asked the station attendant. They were directed down the block onto the main street of town. There were a few people milling around, but the street was mostly deserted. “Guess they’re still on hard times.”

“Tis a sign.” England sighed as he slipped off the hood. “I guess I was searching for an adventure, but didn't specify.” He shivered as a cool September wind raced down the street.

“Let’s go see what’s around,” America said. Together, they walked into the town finding a sleepy little diner. America slid right into the atmosphere of the place.

“How long do you think we will be here?” England questioned as they slipped into a booth.

“Gotta let the engine cool for an hour or so. Then as long as more isn’t off than I think... maybe two hours?”

“That should be enough time.”

“For?” America asked, picking up the small menu.

“You'll see.” He smiled.

America tilted his head at him, shrugging. “No hints?”

“Wouldn’t want to spoil it, love.” He grinned.

A slight flush dusted America’s cheeks, as he cleared his throat as an older woman wearing a spotted apron stopped at their table with a pair of mugs. “Do you have coffee, ma’am?” America asked, ordering a cup when she nodded.

“Just tea for me, please,” England smiled as she walked away he shot America a glance. “What's with the flush love, I wasn't intoning anything crude. My, my. Your mind is in the gutter.”

“Firmly.” He flashed England a grin. “All your fault.”

“I didn't say it was a problem.” He shrugged.

Nudging his foot under the table, America accepted the cup of coffee as it was brought back. “Adventures, huh?”

“I suppose one could say that.”

“I suppose we could.” America smiled at him over the mug and they sipped at their beverages in silence. Three older men sat in the booth closer to the front door, a newspaper spread out on the table in front of them. In the quiet, their conversation was more easily overhead.

“I look at my son and I just can’t imagine him over there... it was bad enough when we went,” said one of them to the other. “Then when we got back... what were we fighting for anyway?”

America set his cup down with a clink. “Do you want to get food, or just go back to the station after we finish?” He tapped the edge of the cup again.

“There is a small wooded area not much farther down the road is there not? Let's fix the engine and go there.”

“Yeah, it might be cool enough now.” America pulled some money out of his pocket and put it on the table. “Want to go now?”

“Very much so.” England stood up, straightening his jacket.

They walked back out of the diner, the group near the door watching them as they went. America pushed his hands into his pockets. He wouldn’t be able to take England’s hand here, as much as he wanted to do so. When they arrived back at the car, England leaned against the side as America tinkered. He was right, and it didn’t take long to fix. Fueling up, they pulled away from the little town, leaving it behind for the small wood that England had seen.

“How long do you think we are going to be able to putz about before we get caught?”

“This is my land, as long as we want to.” The engine came to a stop and the world grew quiet as America parked on the side of the road. A few birds sang in the trees overhead, but the sound of any other vehicle was distant.

“That's good, you just tell that to your guards when they come looking for us.” England slipped out of the car,undoing his tie and the top button on his collar.

“They’d have to be pretty good at guessing if they catch us today at any rate.” America climbed out of his seat, following England as he walked a little ways into the trees.

“Let's hope they are daft.” England bent over and unlaced his shoes, pulling off his socks.

America paused by a tree, watching him. “What are you doing?”

“Going for a walk.” He tucked the socks in his shoes, straightening and walking over to America, reaching out he wound his fingers through Americas. That was something there never did. Just going for a walk.

America’s fingers squeezed his own as they started off. “It sounds like there is a creek up ahead.”

“Far too cold to get close. It's fairly warm today, but my toes won't handle that.”

“We should go to the river next summer. We could have our pick, I’ve got lots of rivers.”

“One with lots of wildflowers.”

“That’s quite a lot of ‘em. Mountains or meadow valleys?”

“Surprise me.” England grinned up at him.

America smiled back. “Okay, roughing it or someplace comfy to sleep? That’ll narrow it down.”

England snorted. “Well, since it won't be pouring while being chased by the Romans through the woods with spears I think I can handle roughing it.”

“Then it’s a good thing tents don’t bother me anymore. Matches make things easier.” America paused to pick up one of the yellow leaves on the ground. “Camping it is.”

“Lovely, although avoiding mosquito popular areas would be preferable.”

“I’ll do my best. Hard to avoid ‘em. I should get on inventing something, it would be nice to keep the bugs away.” America smiled. “Do you remember that stage stop? The one where you got bit by the black fly?”

“Don't you even mention that.” England shuddered.

“It’s a moment that endears me to you, sweetheart.” America squeezed his hand gently. “I guess we won’t go there then, even if there are much better accommodations now.”

“Yes, somewhere else.” England pulled on America's hand, restarting their walk. “Come on.” He turned to face the other.

America followed him as he walked backwards, his fingers reaching out to push a lock of England’s hair from his forehead. “I know where I’ll take you.”

“And where is that love?” He smiled.

“Next time it’s spring in the desert, we’ll go. It’s like the whole world is covered in flowers.”

“Sounds wonderful.” He stepped onto America's shoes, and pushed himself up to steal a kiss. “Too bad we have to wait.”

“It’s only until next spring.” His arms wrapped around England’s back. “The world should still be around.”

“Yes, yes. Now come on, before the world catches up with us, I want to keep walking before we get dragged back to smelly old DC.”

“All right.” America hooked an arm around England’s shoulders so that they walked close together, circling through the small wood until the weather grew cooler with the growing sunset. It was their little bubble of peace and despite the smiles and non important topics exchanged between them, both minds were focused on the fact that this wasn’t real. This was only a temporary status, things were going to change, despite as much as they wanted it to stay the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you are enjoying, please leave a kudo or a comment! 
> 
> We are coming up on the end of Book 4 - one chapter to go! Then we'll be on to Book 5 and all of the twists and turns for them in World War II! We've been thinking about this story for over a year and we're really excited to start sharing it with you soon! Keep an eye out!


	21. Undone by the Clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hour is growing closer to when war will knock on England's door. What do they do when conflict threatens to tear them apart once more?

_ September 1, 1939  _

_ London, England _

_ 10 Downing Street _

Sir Horace Wilson protested, “But we’re not at war yet, and we wouldn’t want to do anything to upset delicate negotiations, would we?”

“I agree with Morrison. Horace, we’ve been planning this since the summer. It’s better to be safe than sorry,” England interjected. “We’ve been requisitioning busses and trains since the summer, we have the means. The Germans have invaded Poland. Its no longer a debate about there being a war but rather how long it's going to take for the war to reach our soil.”

“But this is too much,” Wilson protested, stepping back as Morrison stepped forward.  

With a thick London East End accent, Morrison was London’s mayor and a Laborite who was at the end of his rope. He growled, “Look, ’Orace, go in there and tell Neville this from me. If I don’t get the order to evacuate the children from London this morning, I’m going to give it myself and tell the papers why I’m doing it. ’Ow will ’is nibs like that?”

“We can’t start a panic!” 

“Then give me the note!” Morrison demanded and England watched the debate swell between the men. The clock ticked in the background, an ever-present reminder to just how much time they did not have. Morrison stormed out of the house in a hurry, England jogged after him. It was happening so quickly, he could hardly keep up, the taste in his mouth was sour. The evacuations were to start that afternoon. Hundreds of children were going to begin leaving London.

***

_ Buckingham palace, 15:00 _

“I need my car brought around immediately.” England tugged on his uniform cap as he hurried down the stairs, smoothing his jacket and tightening his belt.

“My Lord, you have a visitor,” George called from behind him.

“Tell them to wait, this cannot be pushed. I must be there to help!”

“But Master Jones is already here.”

“What?” That stopped England in his rush, turning on a step to look up the long staircase. America stood at the top of the staircase, looking down at England. His face had an uncharacteristic seriousness. 

“Arthur, we need to talk.”

“We can talk tonight. Not right now.” There was a spark of joy at seeing America but the stress of the event muted it.

“What’s going on?” America asked, coming down the stairs to join him. “Can I help?”

England stared at him for a moment. Part of him didn't want to expose the younger to this but the other part knew he had to know. He did have a hand in all of this. “Yes.” He took off down the stairs.

America followed him, climbing into the car after him as they pulled away into the city. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Operation Pied Piper.” England watched the crowds with a pained look on his face.

“What’s that code for?”

“In the next four days our goal is to move 3,000,000 children. Pull them from their homes and families. Transport from towns and cities, from enemy bombers, to safe places in the country.”

America stared at him, grasping at the door as England swing around a tight corner. “Arthur... that’s insane. You’re not at war.” 

“If we manage this then it will be the largest movement of people in my history.” He ignored America’s comment. “The decision was made about three hours ago.”

“Arthur, slow down.”

“It’s fine. We need to move them.”

“No, slow down the car. If we get injured we can’t help them.” America reached over and touched his arm. “If you think it needs to be done... I’ll help you.”

“I don't think it needs to be done, it has to be done.” He released off the gas as they neared the station. It was packed. Families crying and children were being handed around, strings with  tags on them being pulled over their heads. Like luggage.

America didn’t get out of the car at first. “Are you sure about this? Where are you even sending them?”

“Right now just to the countryside, overseas will come later as more plans are established.”  England stepped out of the car, approaching two men in uniform who snapped attention. “Hand me tags, we are here to help,” he ordered and turned to motion for America to come out of the car.

“I’ll talk to my boss about this.” America took the labels.

“I can't deal with that right now, Alfred. We know how well that worked last time.” They were caught up in the masses. Hours of writing on tags, helping children into cars. Some children thought it was a lovely holiday they were going on and some had no idea what was really happening. One of the girls America picked up was no older than five years old and she looked up at him as he moved to hand her over.

“Sir why are our mummies and daddies sending us away? Don't they love us no more?”

“It’s just for a short while. It shouldn’t be long, kid.” America glanced over at England who was completely focused on what he was doing.

“Who am I going to see?”

America looked back at her. He had no idea, England hadn’t told him. “Nice people,” he said, not sure what else he could say.

“I hope so. Last week Mummy told me we was going to go get me knew shoes for my first day at school,” she said excitedly as a woman from the train pulled her from America's grip and handed her down the line. America swallowed.  _ What are you doing, Arthur? What haven’t you told me?  _ Hours passed before the last train and bus pulled away. They would resume when more vehicles were ready. England dragged himself over to the car and into the driver's seat, gesturing for America to follow him. The drive back to the palace was silent and by the time they made it back to England's personal room he hadn't said a word. Andrew pointed at the silver tray loaded with supper and then towards the bathroom were steam leaked out from under the door. He said nothing, looked at America, gestured to his Master and left. He looked drained. Everyone in England looked like that today.

Without speaking, America moved forward and wrapped his arms around England. He held him against England’s initial reaction to pull away. England pushed at him, trying to get away but relented, sagging against the other. “What are you doing here?”

“You should eat something first. We can talk after you eat.”

“I am not hungry.”

“I’m not here with good news. You should eat. I was on a long flight, I should eat, too.”

“Lack of good news.” England snorted. “Trust me, I'm familiar.” He stepped away, but ignored cart, instead turning for the bath. “I feel I'll lose supper if I eat now.”

“Do you want me to come?”

England stopped at that, turning to stare at him. America never asked. It was a bath. something that had somehow became their thing, the reason England had continued to install more and more luxurious ones in chamber and home. “Excuse me?”

“I just... do you want to be alone?” America rubbed the back of his neck.

England's lips pursed. “You should eat.” He whirled around and knocked the water closet door open, pulling at his clothes as he went in. Perfumes and scented soaps of rose filled the air as he entered the steamy room. He would take a soak, eat something light and go straight to bed. Just like that. He was done with today.

“Arthur, stop.” America followed him into the bathroom, his clothes growing damp in the steam. “There aren’t words. You shouldn’t have had to do that today.”

“No. But we are expecting four million deaths in London alone. We've started stockpiling coffins,” he ground out, throwing his clothes to the floor.

“Arthur, but... you’re not at war...” 

“Do your really think Hitler is going to pull out of Poland by 1100 on the third!?” England snapped, whirling around to face America. “Germany is randomly bombing Poland, killing civilians with no reasoning except to bomb! We warned them and they have offered no response. We are at war! And it will be official in less than forty eight hours and Francis is to follow six hours after!”

“But he would be insane to fight both of you guys. I’ve heard that his strength is exaggerated.”

“And he is terrified of me. He was caught two years ago saying that England is the only enemy that proves a real challenge! So if he hasn't responded to my threats you know what that means? He’s going to do it!”

America was silent for a moment, then he said, “We don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“I am not discussing this with you!”

“And that’s the fucking problem isn’t it?” America snapped. His face was tired, England could see it now. “I am trying to get a handle on what’s going on! You could tell me things and we’ve spent the last decade pretending we’re fine!”

“I Am Not Discussing This With Alfred!” England shouted. “My water closet and my bed are not my fucking office!”

“And that works for you? To pretend I’m not also the United States of America?”

“Right now? After what we did today? Yes! Yes, I fucking do! I don't want the United States right now. I want Alfred!!” His fist slammed into the rim of the tub.

“I’m right here.”

“Then be here and stop talking about all of that other stuff right now!”

America rubbed his hands on his trousers for a moment, watching England with worry on his face. He stepped forward, pulling England into his arms again. “I’m right here,” he repeated.

“Fuck you,” England swore against his shoulder, hands gripping at the back of his shirt in frustration. He stepped back looking to the tub. America pulled at his own clothes, undressing to join him.  England slipped in ahead of him and when he followed after the smaller blonde took no time in invading his personal space, the tub filled to the brim and sloshed over the edges. England's face pressed against his throat, fingers curling and unfurling into fists.

Smoothing his hands up and down England’s back, America held him. He pressed his lips against England’s hair. Leaning back, England pulled him into a wet kiss, whether from bath water or tears of anger it was impossible to tell. The hand fisting in his hair was telltale. Hands sliding to his hips, America kissed him back, matching the fierceness. A sound that could only be called a growl escaped the Englishman 

“Fuck me,” he commanded.

Shifting forward, America pulled England firmly against his hips. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but England stole his breath. His hands worked, England hurrying him along. A groan fell from America’s lips as England gritted his teeth and pressed. They held each other for a moment, the seconds ticking by as their bodies adjusted. England moved first, but America found a rhythm to meet him. England’s back met the edge of the tub as America adjusted their position, gripping the slick lip for better leverage.

***

“They are going to start again at dawn.” England stared at the window of his bedroom, from his place on America's chest. The food tray stood next to the bed, picked over and pushed around.

America looked down at him, the fingers of his hand curled against England’s back. “I’ll help you.”

“You think that's wise?”

America looked up at the ceiling. “It’s not. I’m doing it anyway. If he declares war on me first...” America swallowed. “We’re not at war.” As if just saying it could make it true.

“As an American you're not. No.”

“As an Englishman you aren’t either.” Silence. “You don’t think there’s any way to avoid it?”

“I know there isn't. Fucking tried.”

“I know.” America shifted a little, his body turning inward toward England’s. “They’ve gone off the fucking deep end.”

“My bed not my office.”

America curled further toward England, rolling on top of him. He looked down at his face, but England still stared at the window. “Arthur, we’ll get through this.” 

“I'm British. I always do,” he muttered before looking up at him. “You should have come just a few days earlier we could have run to my home in the countryside…”

“The one with the garden?” America asked. “That would have been nice. You always look happy there.”

“Yes.” England heaved a sigh. “Although I won’t have access to it for the time of the war.”

“Staying in London or going with the troops? Probably both, huh?”

“Yes. And it's being used for children’s housing.”

“That’s a good use for it.” America gathered England in more closely, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Hopefully it won’t be long.”

“That is what I pray for,” England murmured and pressed a soft kiss to America’s mouth. One. two. Three. Lips, soft from the bath. “I do hope so.”

***

**Daily Mirror's coverage**

**Saturday, 2 September 1939**

_ No hitch on great adventure _

_ Evacuation of schoolchildren from London went without a hitch. The children, smiling and cheerful, left their parents and entrained for unknown destinations in the spirit of going on a great adventure. _

_ 'I wish all our passengers were as easy to manage,' a railway official said. 'The children were very well behaved.' _

_ *** _

**Daily Mirror; part two**

**Saturday, 2 September 1939**

_ And they did smile _

_ A teacher cheerily told a father: 'We'll be back in a week. The weather's glorious for a nice holiday.' _

_ Organization was so good that a quarter of an hour after the assembly the children were ready to move. _

_ Not one of the 250 children was late at Mandeville Street School, Lower Clapton. Once inside their buses they talked happily with their parents through the windows. 'Got your comics, Bert?' shouted a fond father. Bert had them all right, with his gas mask. _

_ *** _

**Daily Mirror: part three**

**Saturday, 2 September 1939**

_ Evacuation plans going smoothly _

_ Great progress has been made with the first part of the Government's evacuation arrangements in England, says a statement issued by the Minister of Health. The statement goes on: 'The railways, road transport organisations, local authorities and teachers and the voluntary workers in the reception areas are all playing their part splendidly.' _

_ 'Evacuation will continue. The time that it will take to complete will vary in different areas.' _

_ 'Evacuation of school children will continue in areas where it is not already completed.' _

_ 'This will be followed by evacuation of young children accompanied by their mothers or by some other responsible person, expectant mothers, blind and any cripples who have received instructions that they will be moved.' _

_ *** _

_ September 2,  _

_ Buckingham Palace, London, England _

England stumbled upstairs into his rooms, rubbing at his temple as he went. America had stopped by the American embassy on the way back, saying something about paperwork. England had been too tired to argue. 

It was night before he arrived, flopping face down on the bed beside England without even taking off his suit. The motion woke England from his fitful rest.

“You came back.”

“I don’t know for how much longer. But yes, of course I came back. I didn’t say goodbye.”

“Well, that's good to know” England rolled over to face him. “What did you do?”

“Talked to my boss mostly.” America turned to look at him and gave him a teasing smile. “I’m sure your guys will give you a full report.”

“Are you-” England's eyes widened. “No.” He shook his head.

“So you don’t listen to my phone calls?” America looked surprised.

“Of course not!”

“Good to know.” He scooted closer to England. “I’m probably leaving soon. There’s stuff at home.”

“You also… with the…” He nodded. “Yes.”

“I told him about what is happening.”

“I…” England shook his head again. “No. Bed not desk.”

“Okay.” America turned his face back into the blankets. “Bed not desk.”

“I don't allow clothes in bed.”

“That so?” America said, voice muffled by the blankets.

“Exactly. So on your feet and off with your trousers. Make a show of it while you're at it.” A grin lifted his mouth.

America turned to stare at him in surprise. “A show, huh?” He offered him a smile in return, climbing over England and shrugging out of his coat. He settled on top of England’s hips, pulling his suspenders off. He paused then, leaning forward to press a kiss on him.

England grasped his chin between forefinger and thumb, allowing the barest of kiss, his other hand slipping between them. “Come now, Alfred, tick tock.”

“Patience, babe.” America pushed through to take another kiss, making a pained sound when England squeezed the front of his trousers. “Cheater,” he teased, leaning back so he could work on his belt.

“Fine, fine,” England droned, pulling his hands back and tucking them behind his head. “I'll just watch the show then. I’ve done that before. Don't you remember? I could talk you through it again.”

America tilted his head at him. “Is that really what you want, to just watch?” His fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, slowly undoing them one by one. 

“Perhaps, I haven't made up my mind just yet.” He grinned, lifting his knees to knock the other forward as he followed the button trail with his eyes.

Keeping his balance, America offered a teasing grin in return. “Better decide soon, I might not wait for you.” He pulled his shirt tail out of his trousers. He slid a hand over the front of the fabric, watching England’s face.

England inhaled sharply and swallowed thickly pulling his hands out from behind his head and grabbed at his hips. “Really now?”

“Well, you know when I haven’t seen you for a while...” He unhooked his belt, sliding it off and dropping it to the side. “When all I’ve got are memories of you...” He slid his hand inside his trousers and closed his eyes.

“Good to know they keep you busy at night,” England breathed, palm pressing against the others belly. “Well, you can let them entertain you tonight or I can.”

“Gonna make me a new memory, Arthur?” America asked, his trousers sliding down his hips as he loosened them. He looked down at England, taking the hand on his belly and sliding it down further. “While we’ve got the opportunity?”

“Or you could participate,” England murmured, fingers curling. “I... don’t want to fuck you…”

“What do you want?” America’s breath hitched as he leaned over England, they’re hands moving together.

“I...” England looked away in embarrassment. “Forget it.”

America pressed a kiss beneath his jaw. “Tell me.”

“I-” he exhaled. “Go slow.” He hid his eyes with his other arm. 

“Arthur.” America’s voice was soft, his forehead warm on England’s arm. He kissed him, soft until England moved his hand to cup his cheek and kissed him back. His eyes searched England’s as he pulled away to slide out of the rest of his clothes. England pulled him beneath the blankets. America came back into his arms without comment, his kisses filled with affection, their bodies sliding together. England could help the happy sigh that slipped from his lips as he twined his fingers in America's hair. The larger male’s body pressed him down into the mattress as his hands rubbed over his back. Their limbs tangled as hands sought to survey naked skin. England hummed as he rolled onto his belly beneath the other, pleased with the weight on his back and hips on his ass. America’s handsslid over his sides, back, lips over his nape. The hand that stretched out over the pillows to grasp at the purple satin fabric was covered by a larger one. 

“Alfred.”

“Yeah?” America asked, voice muffled as his lips brushed England’s shoulder.

“Hush,” he chided, arching into the touch with a sigh, other hand sliding across the sheets, eyes sliding shut with a shudder. This was different, slowly surrendering to the other. It didn't feel forced this time. 

America wanted to memorize every aspect of the moment. The salty taste of England’s sweat on the back of his neck. The quivering muscles under his hands. The way England pressed his hips back against him. That he didn’t stiffen or pull away. “Arthur...” His name slipped off his lips. England only offered another hum in response, pale skin contrasting sharply against his own sun kissed color. The smaller man moved beneath him, belly to belly once more. England's eyes remained closed as he allowed him to press his hands into the pillow. Knees falling apart so his heels dragged up the backs of Americas thighs, knees pressing into his rib cage. Their bellies slid together as America bent him a little further, mouth finding England’s. He kissed him, one hand sliding down over England’s thigh and taking a hold on his hip. Fingers curling into the fabric of the pillow England kissed him deeply,grinning against his mouth as he allowed America to push his legs farther. He lifted them himself, calf resting on America's shoulder.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Did I forget to mention I am extremely flexible?”

“You may have mentioned it. Something else to see it. Feel it.” His body felt like it was humming, resonating with England’s heartbeat. He felt the taught stretch in England’s muscles. He could hear every breath when they were this close. He felt a trembling in his own limbs as he adjusted England’s body. He reached for the bedside table where England had left a small bottle. His fingers felt slick as he came back to touch him. He pressed his face against England’s neck, wanting to feel every breath. “Ready?” he breathed.

“You-” England took a shuddering breath. “You can prepare me... but... I'm gonna be on top,” he whispered. He was almost there, but not quite.

America kissed England’s pulse, trying to bury the twinge in his chest. “Okay.” He hoped he didn’t sound disappointed. He found his rhythm again, as he touched him, the sounds that slipped past his lips reaching straight into America’s heart. Their bodies settled into the far more familiar motion as America moved onto his back.

Staring down at America as he settled into his lap, England inhaled deeply. It was just them. He didn't have to worry about anyone else. About anything else. His fingers splayed across America's chest as he held himself up, leverage to move his hips. Once they started all ease and exploring would dissolve into that hungry searching state. He wanted to draw this out as long as possible.

America’s hands slid over England’s legs, over the soft skin of his hips. He smiled up at him for a moment, then his eyes fell shut as a flash of pleasure crossed his face. His fingers flexed against England’s skin. It didn't take long before the slow ease of their movements escalated into rapid, jerking searches, the smell sweat and sex filling the air. Scratches welted skin, strong hands blooming bruises, limbs cramping, cries splitting the air.

As England collapsed onto his chest, America didn’t want him to move away. He held him as the sweat cooled on their skin and they panted for breath. “That... you...” His mind still hadn’t caught up with the feeling in his body. He pressed a kiss to his forehead, holding him close in his arms.

“Hm?” England hummed, listening to Americas heart pounding away in his chest as he stretched out.

“I... you...” He sighed, his body relaxing against England’s.

“Are you always this articulate?” He laughed quietly.

America chuckled, pressing another kiss to his forehead. 

“Don’t,” England protested.

“Don’t what?” America asked.

“Who knows how long it will be before we see each other again because of the war.” His fingers tightened. “Really kiss me.”

“Arthur... this isn’t goodbye. We don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow.” His fingers trailed down England’s jaw, bringing his mouth to his own. England kissed him deeply, fingers tight around his wrist, despite America’s words it was like he was saying goodbye. 

***

_ September 4, 1939 _

_ London, England _

“It’s gonna be okay,” America said as he helped England loop his tie around his throat. England had put on his army dress uniform. America had felt a pang in his stomach as they buckled each one. It was almost time, the clock was running out for Germany to withdraw from Poland. 

“You are rather optimistic for not even having your coffee,” England sighed, sticking on a pin.

“Gotta balance you out.” He adjusted the knot at England’s throat, fingers brushing against his neck. His hands smoothed over England’s epaulettes. 

“Don't be rude,” England scolded as the door was pushed open.

“Doing things this early in the morning,  _ mon amis _ ? So naughty!” 

“Mind your own beeswax, Francis,” America said, turning from England. “Is that your new uniform? Kinda bright ain’t it?”

“You just have no fashion sense, Alfred!” Francis shook his head. “Neither does Arthur but he is a lost cause, never had any.”

“Oh, shove off, frog!” He flipped Francis the bird.

“Looks sharper than you.” America’s attention got drawn away when the door opened to admit a servant saying something about a phone call. “I better take this call, be back soon.” He squeezed England’s hand for a moment and then left the room.

“Okay.” England watched him leave before turning to France. “I am surprised you are here.”

“There’s no going back after today. We are on this path together. I thought it was fitting.” France gave a colorful shrug. “I am probably more surprised that Alfred is here.” He raised an eyebrow at England.

“I was surprised as well that he arrived.” England crossed his arms and walked towards the window. “He will have to leave after 11 if America stays neutral.”

“I doubt we would get news that quickly. His people are terrible procrastinators, they are likely avoiding asking themselves what they will do until they are asked.” France walked over towards him. “Has he said anything?”

“No, not really.” He shook his head. “I had him help with Operation Pied Piper and he said he talked to his boss but that was it.”

“That might be a good sign. For supplies at least.” France paced around. “I need a drink. How about you,  _ mon ami? _ ”

“You know where the liquor is.” England sighed, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. It was 0600. Five hours. Germany had five hours to pull back. Or go to war.

“It is no fun to drink alone.” France pouted prettily at him, but England had known him too long. France sighed. “Fine, suit yourself.” He sighed and turned. “I’m surprised you didn’t summon the empire, or is it because you already told them to prepare?”

“They’ve been preparing. Plus, what's the point of having them all hear when London is in the middle of an evacuation. Matthew is due to arrive this morning and so is Alistair and Seamus.”

“At least there will be someone to drink with me,” France said. He waited a moment longer, staring at England who was checking the alignment of his medals on his coat. “Arthur, I never thought I would have to say this for yet another time, but... at least if we are in this thing. I appreciate that you are my ally.”

England snorted and looked up. “Who else would save your cheese eating surrender monkey ass?”

“As always, you make me regret my words.” France flipped his hair over his shoulders. “You can find me near your liquor cabinet.” 

“And how is that any different from normal, frog?” England snorted before sitting on the edge of his desk. Four and a half hours left. What was taking America so long?

America still hadn’t returned by the time he met with Canada and his brothers. The meeting went as well as it could without any decisions having been made, the small group going off to join France in raiding his liquor cabinet. England stared out the window. When the door finally opened, he expected it to be a servant. Instead, he could see America’s reflection in the glass as he entered the room. He wasn’t smiling, but was instead fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. He looked like he should be in a soda fountain, not standing on England’s plush carpet and contemplating the looming threat of war.

“You came back.”

“Apparently I’m no longer officially here. If anyone asks I left yesterday according to my boss.” He came closer to England, leaning against the window frame and looking out at the movement taking place on the lawn below. 

“Is that so.” It wasn't a question, the muscle in England’s jaw jumped.

America’s brow furrowed, still looking at the soldiers bringing in sandbags to the palace grounds. “I don’t know what they’re doing. My boss wouldn’t tell me what they were talking about. Just told me how he wants me to act.” Glancing at England, he asked, “Where is everybody?”

“I sent them out to help or go do something.”

“You’re alone?”

“Obviously,” he sighed. 

“How’s it looking?” he asked. His fingers brushed the back of England’s hand.

“That in three hours I will go to war against Germany.”

“Have you eaten anything?”

“No.” He crossed his arms. “I'm not hungry.”

“You should really eat something.” America reached for his arm.

“And I said I am not hungry.” England shot him a look.

America put his hand on his arm. “What do you need then? You can’t just stand here waiting for the firing squad.”

England didn't pull away, he could have America for three more hours. Three more. “I am fine, I am having a new pot sent up.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you’re drinking tea.” America smiled at him, pulling him closer and wrapping his arms around him. 

“Because I have taste.” England sniffed. “I even sent up for coffee to play to your lack of taste.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. I could use some. Probably not gonna get much sleep tonight.”

England flinched, he would probably have to put America on a boat before supper. “Yes, but let's not bother with that now.”

“The phone calls are gonna be endless. I’m going to try and see if someone can relay a radio signal. I want to know what Congress is doing, been working on it, but the signal isn’t that great over the wireless yet.” America sighed. “It’s gonna be a long day.”

“Yes.” England pulled away and headed towards his bedroom. America followed him from the parlor, pausing in the doorframe. 

“Arthur?”

“Come here.”

Following him into the room, America stopped behind him. He pulled his back to him and pressed a kiss to the back of his head.

“No politics in my chambers remember?”

“No politics,” America repeated. “The Super Bowl will be in a few weeks. New York Giants versus the Green Bay Packers. I’m gonna win you over on football one of these days.”

“It’s not football.” He frowned.

“It is at my house.”

England rolled his eyes. “I am not sure where I went wrong.”

“Probably when you insisted that I can’t change the rules to cricket,” America teased. 

“Because they do not need changing!”

“Baseball is much more fun.”

“Once again I cannot understand your bad taste,” England groaned and feigned being sick.  “Honestly,-”

“Arthur?” Canada's voice came from parlor before the violet eyed male appeared in the doorway. “Oh, there you are... and this is where you were, Alfred.”

“No, I was on the phone until about ten minutes ago,” America replied, loosening his hold around England.

“What did Roosevelt say?” Canada came into the room and sat on the bed.

“Congress has to decide. Then he’ll issue a statement. I’ll either be here tomorrow or they’ll be shoving me on a plane to take me back.” 

Canada looked up to stare at England who looked away. He didn't want to get into that. He still had two and half hours until he was officially at war and had to push Alfred out of Britain.

“Arthur says no politics in here.”

“Yes, I forgot sorry,” Canada apologized.

“Arthur thinks that football isn’t a sport. Tell him he’s wrong, Matt,” America said, changing the topic of conversation back to sports. It was completely innocuous and England couldn’t feel any annoyance in the face of it. Anything to not talk about the looming threat.

“I mean...” Canada shrugged.

“See, Matt’s on my side.” America squeezed England a little around the middle. “What did you want?

“Actually, I was agreeing with Arthur.” Canada sniffed and England laughed.

“Says the guy who always plays football!” America released England with one hand to make a playful grab at his brother. Canada leaned away. England shook his head in amusement before walking over to the window. He peered up at the sky, searching. Two hours.

***

America dropped onto the bed beside Canada. “I don’t know what he’s thinking,” he whispered. “Last night... It was like the world was ending today.”

“Because we go to war today. People are worried it will be another Great War.”

“I’m not stupid. I know that.” America leaned back and tried to find the words. “Everyone knows it’s going to be bad. If Arthur would just talk to me... I don’t know... it felt like saying goodbye to a soldier who doesn’t think he’s coming back. Matt... he’s not going to let me stay if my people don’t declare war. I need you to take care of him... and remember our deal from the last time.”

Canada’s brow furrowed. “Of course I'm going to take care of him, although the deal? I'm not sure I remember.”

“You’ll let me come with you sometimes. Like before.” Canada looked unsure. “You can either help me or not, but I’m doing it anyway.”

“You mean come to London or to war, Alfred? This feels like it's going to be much worse than before.”

“To the war. Congress may not decide to go to war today, but we both know I won’t be able to stay out of it. Even if I’m never in the war... my people won’t all sit it out. I’m not going to leave you two to it.” America swallowed. “And don’t tell me I should say this to Arthur, you know he won’t hear it.”

“No, it would be stupid to say that... I would have your bags packed before 11, however.”

“I might be an ally tomorrow. I’m not going until it’s been decided.”

“No.” Canada cast a glance at England. “I would be prepared.”

“I’m not going until we know,” America repeated, frowning at his brother until Canada sighed in acquiescence. 

“We should go to tea. Her Majesty is having a formal party this morning,” England said from the window.

“Seriously?” America asked.

“Yes.” England walked over to them. “And we are going.”

“I wasn’t expecting tea with your monarchs today...” America said, standing up and coming to England’s side. England knew he looked paler than usual. America was likely worried he may fall.

“Just with Her Majesty and the princesses.” England nodded “His Majesty will be busy with Parliament.” He smiled tightly as Canada also joined them. England touched his belly. It had been stirring all morning. Others had arrived. “Well, let's go.”  

The twins argued with each other over things like sports and food while England simply listened. The banter was light and held no ill intent. He listened until they got outside the room where he rapped his knuckles on each of their chests. “Enough, boys.”

Canada looked bashful, but America just stared at him. “Right when I was winning, too.” America touched the back of England’s hand for a moment, but then the door opened and they were announced.

England was glad it wasn't everyone. Most didn't realize how truly large his empire was.

  
_ United Kingdom Ascension Island _ __   
_ Lesotho Basutoland _ __   
_ United Kingdom Bechuanaland Protectorate _ __   
_ Cameroons _ __   
_ Gambia _ __   
_ Gold Coast (British colony) _ __   
_ Kenya  _ __   
_ Mauritius  _ __   
_ Nigeria _ __   
_ Northern Rhodesia _ __   
_ Nyasaland _ __   
_ Saint Helena _ __   
_ Seychelles _ __   
_ Sierra Leone _ __   
_ Somaliland _ __   
_ Southern Rhodesia  _ __   
_ United Kingdom Sudan _ __   
_ Tanganyika _ __   
_ United Kingdom Togoland _ __   
_ Uganda Protectorate _ __   
_ Zanzibar Protectorate _ __   
_ Barbados _ __   
_ Bermuda _ __   
_ Canada _ __   
_ United Kingdom Cayman Islands _ __   
_ Dominica _ __   
_ Falkland Islands _ __   
_ Grenada _ __   
_ British Guiana _ __   
_ British Honduras  _ __   
_ Jamaica _ __   
_ Leeward Islands _ __   
_ United Kingdom Newfoundland _ __   
_ Saint Lucia _ __   
_ Saint Vincent _ __   
_ Trinidad and Tobago _ __   
_ Turks and Caicos _ __   
_ Windward Islands _ __   
_ Hong Kong  _ __   
_ Cyprus  _ __   
_ Gibraltar _ __   
_ Guernsey _ __   
_ Isle of Man _ __   
_ Jersey  _ __   
_ Malta  _ __ __   
_ Colony of Aden Aden _ __   
_ Bahrain Protectorate _ __   
_ Egypt _ __   
_ Kuwait Protectorate _ __   
_ United Kingdom Palestine _ __   
_ Qatar Protectorate _ __   
_ Transjordan _ _   
_ _ Trucial States _ __

_ Australia _ __   
_ Fiji _ __   
_ Gilbert and Ellice Islands Gilbert and Ellice Islands _ __   
_ United Kingdom Nauru _ __   
_ New Guinea _ __   
_ New Hebrides _ __   
_ New Zealand  _ __   
_ United Kingdom Norfolk Island _ __   
_ Territory of Papua Papua _ __   
_ Solomon Islands _ __   
_ Tonga Protectorate _ _   
_ __ Western Samoa

_ Dominion of Ceylon _ __   
_ India _ __   
_ Brunei Protectorate _ __   
_ British rule in Burma  _ __   
_ United Kingdom Malaya _ __   
_ North Borneo North Borneo _ __   
_ Sarawak _ _   
_ __ Straits Settlements

His mind ran over the list and he almost groaned. Only a few had arrived. It was going to be a much quicker greeting. “Alistair” Scotland. “Seamus” Ireland “Jett” Australia. Egypt. Seychelles. Hong Kong. Cyprus. India. Jamaica. He nodded to each of them. “I am glad you all have come today. However, business is something that is not to be discussed during Her Majesty's tea and we shall talk later.” It wasn't a suggestion. He turned when America made a noise.

“So it’s the Empire plus me?” America whispered to him. 

“Nonsense. Only nine of the seventy-four are here.” England was casual in his response. America rolled his eyes, but offered a wide smile to Australia in greeting as the younger nation bounded over. “Jett. Manners. This is a formal gathering.”

“Such a stick in the mud,” Australia groaned. He’d grown quite a bit from the young teen he’d been at the end of the Great War, nearly as broad in the shoulder as Canada and America were now. He offered America a hand. “We’ve been starving in here waiting on you three.”

“Starving, my arse.” England snorted and reached out to rub away a smudge of red colored jam at the corner of the boy’s mouth. “You’ve already been at the tarts.”

“Only good part of a tea,” America said, taking Australia’s hand to shake. “We should get Arthur some of those,” America said, staying at England’s elbow as he moved towards the table.

“You didn't want to talk to Jett? He is enamored with you, you know?”

“Is that so? Saying I should give him false hope?” America said, offering England a smile. “Or are you trying to get rid of me?” He said it with jest in his voice, but the way the smile dimmed just a little England could tell he was worried the answer was yes.

England snorted. “I said enamored not in love.”

“I bet he’d play football with me,” America teased, pulling out England’s chair.

“He does play football and is rather good at it.” England took the seat, crossing his arms.

“Then we’ll have to have a game. Aussie! You owe me a football game!”

“You play?” Australia looked up from the sweets table, grinning through a mouthful of cake with Canada at his side.

“Arthur forgets I also play soccer, even if he insists on calling it football.” America grinned at him as England shook his head.

“So, football?” Australia looked confused.

“Matt calls it soccer too. And Arthur used to.”

“Yes, football, Jett.” England sighed.

“The Queen!” came an announcement from a servant near a door and there was a scrape of chairs as everyone stood back up, America a little slower than the rest. 

“Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, Queen Consort of the United Kingdom and the British Dominions,” England murmured under his breath as the room bowed. England cast a glance at France who had slipped in and was whispering into Canada's ear as they bent at the waist. Neither looked pleased. It was ten. One more hour.

It didn’t take long before everyone was seated again. “Arthur, seriously, eat something,” America whispered to him.

“I'm not hungry. I'm fine with just tea.” England frowned.

“Then I’m not eating either.” 

“That’s your choice.” England checked his watch. “But that would be rude as a guest of Her Majesty.”

A servant walked over, leaning near America’s ear. “My boss. I’ll be right back.You should try to eat while I’m gone.” He patted England on the shoulder and followed the servant out. It was nearly 30 minutes later that England grew concerned that America’s chair remained empty.

He could see the man who had escorted him standing near the door. He waved him over. “He told me not to wait.”

“And you didn't report that to me?” England snapped and pushed to his feet. “Where?” Getting directions, he slipped into the hall and back towards his chambers, all but slamming the door open in his study.

America jumped, dropping the receiver. He caught it before it hit the desk and pressed it back to his ear, watching England. “I’m just saying keep me updated. I know it’s early, but...” England could hear the rumble of someone speaking on the other end. America looked away from him as he came closer. “Soon, yeah.”

England crossed his arms, lips curling in anger. He was pissed. America was spending his last hour on the phone! The phone sat down with a click to end the call. “Is the party over? I needed to make a few calls, but I can come back now,” America said. Looking at England, he saw his position. “What happened?”

“You are what happened!” England scowled. “I'm sitting there waiting for you to come back and you are talking on the phone instead!”

“I’m trying to find out what’s going on back home and what’s going to be said if you go to war in,” he looked at his watch, “Thirty more minutes.”

“Yes, thirty, only thirty,” England said tightly.

“You act like I’ll suddenly get whisked on to some other planet when the clock strikes 11. This isn’t Flash Gordon.”

England's jaw tightened, but he shook his head, swallowing thickly. He already had his driver load up Americas things and prepare the car. “No, not disappear.”

“Then what?”

“Just... just stop talking.” The pain was sharp in his chest. 

America stepped around the desk, standing close. He put a hand on England’s shoulder, but England could barely feel him through the weight of his uniform. “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

“Stop.” It almost came out as a whine. “Bedroom.”

America followed him when England turned on his heel and walked out of the study. “Arthur?”

England glanced at the shadows under the door to his parlor. George had been very strict about it. At 1100 if the Germans did not pulled back and the United States did not pledge as an ally then America was to be escorted out of the palace and put on a plane. He looked away and stepped into his bedchamber. Twenty minutes.

“Arthur? What happened?”

He turned as the nation stepped into his room and pulled him into a harsh kiss. America’s arms came automatically around his waist and he kissed him back. When they had to pull back for breath, America touched England’s face.

“Kiss me again,” England whispered.

America’s eyes searched his for a moment, but he pulled him close and kissed him once more. “You are not...” Before he could finish, England drew him into another kiss. England’s hands slid over his face, tracing his features as if he was saving the memory. The clock gonged and England pulled back.

“Arthur?” England pulled back farther, turning away from him. 

“Your boss, did he tell you? Are you going to be an ally?”

“I thought we weren’t talking politics in here.” He reached for England, but he walked out into the parlor and through to the study. “Oh, so we can talk about politics on your terms, but not on mine?” America pulled the study door shut behind them.

“I need you to just work with them. Don't fight them. The king made the decision.”

“About what?”

“You will be escorted from the palace and sent home. You and I will have no contact until the United States of America has confirmed his status as an Ally.” The words had been turned over and over in his head and came out in a practiced air.

“What? No, I’m not leaving. Nothing has been decided yet. Arthur!” The final chime of Big Ben sounded and England shook his head. 

“You are no longer an ally, Alfred. It's not safe for you to be here. You cannot stay.” England crossed his arms. “For months your president has been saying that he will keep you out of the war by all means necessary! Even with this daft plan to make me pay for weapons with money you loaned me. Which, as I’m sure you know, hasn’t been passed!”

“What the fuck does any of that have to do with us!? I was helping you and Francis a long time before I came officially to the Great War.”

“France goes to war in six hours. His president didn't announce to the world that his nation was not participating. I told you if this happened that it was going to have to be like the Great War.”

“This is not going to be like the Great War. So much has changed since then. Will you fucking talk to me?” 

“I know it's not. It's going to be much worse.”

“You think I’m just gonna walk away? Bury my head in the sand?”

“You’re neutral that's what it means.”

“You must be able to look into the future, because Congress and Roosevelt haven’t said one way or another.” They could hear the guards in the hall. “You really think... Arthur, you don’t know everything that I did during the Great War.”

“Alfred, this is not my choice. America is neutral which means you cannot be here.” He pulled his arm out of his grasp. He could do this. He had to do this. It was safer.

“I don’t accept this!” America shouted. 

“It doesn't matter if you do! It's how it is!”

America crossed his arms. “No.”

England threw his hands up. “You just can't say no! You cannot stay, you have to leave!” The door to the parlor was banged on before being pushed open by the guards.

“You... if you had talked to me... fuck you, Arthur this isn’t over.”

England flinched and held his hand up for the guards to wait, expression flat. “We did talk and it did nothing. I told you that it would have to be like the Great War all over again.”

“Things are different now. And no, we didn’t talk. You decided.”

“It’s not safe for anyone. You know that. No matter how  much you want it to be different.”

“Sending me to the other side of the fucking Atlantic isn’t protecting me.” America glanced at the humans who had entered the room. “Get rid of these guys. We can’t have this conversation this way.”

England stared at him for a moment, lips pursed before looking to the men. “Go check on the armored escort for the American diplomats. Be back within the half hour. No later.” The men bowed and slipped out, heavy doors closing behind them.

Silence filled the space for a moment. America ran a hand through his hair. “Why can’t you just tell me things? Instead you blindside me with this?”

“Because I didn't want to spend our last time together for who knows how long doing this!”

America stepped forward and took England by the shoulders. “You should have trusted me. I wouldn’t have... damn it.” Emotion broke on America’s face.

“Wouldn't have what?!” England was getting frustrated now. It was supposed to have gone more smoothly than this.

“I wouldn’t have left your fucking side! Not given anyone the chance to order us apart!”

“You were going to have to leave some time anyways! Roosevelt wasn't going to let you stay here!”

“You don’t think I understand that? Maybe I wanted to kiss you goodbye and know it was going to be a while!? I have a lot of things to do, including figuring out how to get things through the Atlantic now that Ludwig’s navy is probably going to mine or try and take it!”

“You can't have honestly have thought you were going to be allowed go stay after 11:00!? I am an aggressive power now and you’re government made damn sure I knew that meant when they passed all those bloody laws! I heard Matthew telling you to be ready to leave! He warned you where my King told me to keep quiet!”

“And if your government wasn’t so damn secretive and sneaky we could have talked! You ever think that’s why my people hesitate? You don’t always need to be in charge of everything by yourself! Last fucking decade in a nutshell!”

“Of course I'm in bloody charge! Because my Empire takes action!”

America stepped away from him, shaking his head. “This isn’t about my neutrality - that most of my people think is impossible by the way - it’s about that  _ you  _ couldn’t be honest with me! How am I supposed to help you when you won’t let me?! I’ve been trying to find a way around the way my hands have been tied and you’ve been thinking for who knows how long how you’re going to send me away! To keep me  _ safe _ . You don’t get to decide all of the time!”

“You should have known you couldn't stay after the war started! I warned you months ago!” England stepped after him. “Of course I didn't bring it up again I didn't want to spend our free time fighting! We spent the last several days pulling children from their homes!”

“You think I don’t understand what’s at stake here? Do you honestly not think me capable of being trusted with information?”

“I can't tell anything to someone who isn't a sworn ally! You should know this!”

“We are fucking allies! I’m just not at war! And even if you didn’t want to tell the United States, why couldn’t you tell me!? You couldn’t have just said, ‘Hey, Alfred, you better hold me while you fucking can because I’m going to pretend I’m doing you a service by sending you away in a few hours’.”

“And then we would have spent the hours arguing and fighting like we are right now! We wouldn’t have spent the night or the morning in the way we had if I had! I didn’t want that! And I was holding out that Hitler would pull back when he realized how serious England is about this war!”

“And I’m saying you don’t have to push me away. If Ludwig wants to come at me for it he can fucking try!”

“I have no choice! Parliament doesn't want to risk anything!”

“What do  _ you  _ want, Arthur?”

“I want this to go smooth as possible.”

“This the war or  _ this. _ ” He gestured to the space between them.

“This.” England's lips pursed.

America’s shoulders dropped. “When do we ever run smooth?” 

“Never.” England looked to the doors. “Never have and probably never will.”

“Damn it, Arthur!” America turned. “Would you keep me here if you could?” 

England stared at him. That was a loaded question. He would if it was safe to keep the other. He would if it wouldn’t cause more problems than pain. If it wouldn’t cause pain and strife for all involved. If he was certain that this German war was a bluff. If. If. If. England looked away. He couldn’t answer that. His brow furrowed in conflict. “Alfred, you cannot be here if you are not a sworn ally in this war.” 

“Things could change!” 

“I cannot wait on that. Roosevelt is so against the war that he would not want there to be an incident where it appears that the United States has chosen sides.” 

“He isn’t against it. He’s against forcing it. And Congress decides that, I’ve told you a million times...” America curled his fingers against his cheeks. England grimaced in response. Parliament had hoped that it would further push the american nation to talk to his government. By cutting their ties by force. As well as maintaining relations with a neutral nation to the utmost of severity. 

“We cannot risk it Alfred. You are going to go, whether you want to or not!” England whispered before stepping back 

“Orders from the British government never stopped me before.” Silence stretched between them. England stepped away and America stood with his hands hanging at his sides. America took a deep breath. “Do you love me, Arthur?”

“Alfred.” England’s hands wrung themselves. He couldn’t answer that. It. He cared for the other. That was without a doubt, but love was not a word that he had ever said out loud to another in that capacity. Floated in his mind, yes, but to say it? Not even to France in the past. He swallowed. “Alfred.”  

“It’s not a difficult question. Do you love me?”

“Alfred, I care for you, you know that.” He swallowed.

America took several steps back from him, as if England had punched him. “Arthur, if you can’t love me... what are we even doing?”

“Don't.” England looked at him, stepping after him. “I told you a long time ago that I cared for you... that you were the only one.”

America shook his head. “But what are we doing? I thought that we were something.”

“We are something! We are us!. Why is that not enough for you?” He grew exasperated.

“Because you are so quick to push me away. You leave me and expect me to still be there when you’re ready for me again. And I’ve let you.” 

“I've not pushed you away! We've gotten in arguments that's no different than others. I don't leave!”

“You do! What did you do to me in the Great War? What are you doing to me right now? You left me ‘for my own good’ the first night we were ever together!”

“You had me prisoner then, I had no choice! And I didn't leave during the Great War we just weren't sleeping together!”

“You never spoke to me until you found out I was flying planes in France! I did my best, but it wasn’t enough for you!”

“It was more than enough Alfred! But I needed the time to focus! I was busy, not ignoring you."

“I’m not asking for you to entertain me while you’re trying to fight a war. You are banishing me! If I was doing this to you?”

“I am not banishing you! You can't be here right now as a neutral nation!”

“There are neutral nations around others all the time! You are shutting me out! And you can’t even fucking say you love me!” America wrapped his hand around the bedpost, the wood creaking under the pressure. 

“I told you I care for you!”

“It’s not the same thing! You care for your colonies and Dominions.”

“I'm not sleeping with any of them!”

“And you’re not sleeping with me either. It’ll be hard to do even that if we can’t meet or talk to each other.” America’s brow furrowed. “Is that why you think I’m angry?”

“I don't know! I told you this was temporary! We've gone months without talking before!”

“This feels different. We can’t do this to each other. Maybe everyone was right before. I was a fool to try and get you to love me.”

England stopped walking towards him, shock stealing his moment. “What?” his voice cracked as fear raked his chest “What do you mean?” This couldn't be what it sounded like.

“If you don’t love me back... what’s the point?”

“Alfred, love. We cannot talk about this right now. It's been several long emotional days.” He shook his head.

“When are we going to talk about it? You don’t even know when you’ll see me again.”

“I don't know!”

“You don’t know or you don’t care!?”

“I said I don't know!” England shouted.

“You seem to not know a lot of things.” America looked away from him, his hands balling into fists. “Things that you should know.”

“How am I supposed to know when we will meet again it's a war?!” England huffed, closing the distance between them, hands resting on his forearms “Alfred, please.”

“No, Arthur, you’re supposed to know if you love me.” America took a deep breath. “Or not.”

“Alfred...” England touched his face “Please, love, give me time to find words.”

America touched the backs of his hands, fingers curling around his palms to pull him away. “I can’t. You decided that.”

“Alfred, no," he pleaded. He didn't like where this was going.

“They’ll be back any minute. This is it, Arthur.”

“Alfred…” He shook his head. "Please don't do this.”

“I... I can’t do this if all I you can give me are newspaper articles to know what, how, you’re doing. I can’t do it.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I argued with my boss to the point where he worries I’m going to go rogue. I fought for you. My people are on your side, they just don’t want to go to war!”

“Nobody wants to go to war Alfred!” England snapped and stepped away from him.

“Yet here you are making ultimatums and then telling me I get no fucking say! We... is this a partnership or not? You and me? Or do you just like the way we fuck!?”

“I am not making any fucking ultimatums! I am doing whatever I have with this shit storm!”

“Everything except letting me in on it so I can fucking be there! I’m not your subordinate, I’m your equal!”

“But this is for allies, not neutrals! That's the fucking point!”

“It’s not about allies or not! You are cutting me out! You think just because I’m neutral I don’t give a damn?!”

“I didn't fucking say that! But having carnal relations with a neutral nation is political suicide.”

“So you care more about your reputation than how it would make me feel!? I don’t give a shit about my reputation with them!”

“You will when they come after you! Attack you when they claim you aren't neutral because of it!”

“They are going to say I’m supporting you no matter where I am and what I do. Everyone knows that we are close!” 

“But we can't risk any of them having proof that we continued to be intimate! That’s when they’ll--” England bit off the words.  _ They could attack you to try and hurt me. I won’t allow it. _

“So you want to trade everything we have on maybes? That’s not fair and you know it!”

“I told you that is only temporary!”

“It’s always only temporary. Then I’m spending a decade wondering where I stand with you!”

“I told you it's just for war!”

“Is it? Anything could happen and how long until you write me off because it’s no longer expedient for you!?” America turned away and shook his head. “I’m not some toy you can just drop and decide you want to pick up again.”

“I do not treat you like that! What the bloody hell are you saying!?”

“That if you push me out now, I might not come back.”

“What...?” All the anger drained from his skin like turning off a hot shower. “You…” England shook his head. “Parliament said...”

America’s breath hitched. “Did you even stand up for me? Or did you just take your marching orders?”

“Of course I questioned them! They said that this is what we needed for now.”

“ _ We  _ need. No one asked me!”

“We as in the British Empire. You could...” No, he wouldn’t bring up the  _ incident.  _ England could feel the bile welling up in his throat.

“And I could fucking help!” America walked to the back of the couch, leaning against his hands on the back before rocking to his feet again. “Why are you being so stubborn!?”

“You cannot help! Your hands are tied! And I'm not going to be the one to force you to go behind backs!”

“Because you know better than me, huh? I couldn’t possibly make my own decision!” America mocked. “Why don’t you let me decide how much risk I’m going to take!?”

“Because I know better!”

“You don’t! Fuck! It’s like we have the same argument over and over again!”

“Because you can't seem to acknowledge that I indeed have more experience at this fucking game then you do. For fuck’s sake, Alfred!” England's fingers curled into fists. “Some people know when to take a fucking step back and learn! We wouldn't be having the same fucking fight if you would shut your damn mouth sometimes and listen!”

“You should take your own damn advice! If you’d listened to me, we might not be in this situation at all! Instead you were busy distracting me!”

Anger rushed back like a tidal wave. “Oh, because everything is my fault is it!? Not like you were begging for my cock at all! Suffering were you!? Lay back and think of England, huh!?”

America’s face flushed red, but England couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or anger. “Is fucking the only language you understand!?”

“A language which you are fine to talk it seems!” he bellowed. “But maybe that’s not going to be enough anymore. This is all becoming very similar to Vicente!” That wasn't completely true and he didn’t know why the words had flown from his mouth. England's feelings about the situation were very different here.

“I’m nothing like him! That was political and you got your proposal rejected. I would...” He looked away. “You really like doing this to me don’t you? Rubbing my nose in your old lovers? Maybe I should have collected some to shove in your face!”

England laughed and shook his head. He felt like a pure madness had come over him. This couldn’t be happening. “Maybe you should have!” That hurt. Regret curled in his chest, but he couldn’t apologize. The words were already out.

America flinched as if England had struck him. “Maybe I will!” He turned and started for the door. “You want me gone, I’m gone. You don’t even have to wait for your guards.” 

“Fine! I release you from any ties that you believed you were held down by, you know, since I don't listen!”

“Fuck you, Arthur!” Emotion caught at the end, a choked sound, but he was through the door in an instant, slamming it shut so hard that the glass on the windows rattled.

“You apparently hated to!” England screamed after him. “Fuck. Shit.” England swore. It hurt. By God it hurt. It felt like he was going to hurl and have a heart attack all at once. “Dammit!”  England suddenly found himself sitting on the couch, yanking at his hair. Why!? Why did it end up like this!? It wasn't possible!

***

America blindly walked down the hallway, trying to avoid the throngs of people that always seemed around every corner. The tears burned hot in his eyes, but he wanted to hold it together until no one could see him. He yanked open a door and was grateful to find an empty room with the furniture draped in dust cloths. He sank down to the floor and pulled off his glasses. They clattered to the floor as he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He felt like he had when he’d told England he was independent, like his stomach was going to twist itself into such a knot it would never be undone. He kept his hands pressed to his face as the door opened. “Go away.” Someone sat down next to him and America felt the familiar presence of Canada. “Get out of here, Matt.”

“No.” Canada shook his head. “I am kind of stuck in the palace. Just like for the last ten minutes I was stuck outside of Arthur's door.”

“I hope he’s proud of himself.” America sniffed, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “That fucking ass.”

“You both sounded very upset.”

“What gave it away?” America said, voice bitter. “And what do you mean outside his door? I didn’t see you when I came out.”

“You never do.” Canada heaved a sigh.

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop.” America took a shaky breath and leaned back, head thudding against the wall.

“I…” Canada rubbed at his knees. “I'm surprised that you let him get away.”

“You clearly didn’t hear the important parts.”

“Well, yes... you both obviously need to talk and perhaps not yell next time.”

“I wanted to talk to him. He started it.”

“I can believe that. Hes been snappy all week. He about lit Francis's hair on fire.”

“Did he also inform Francis he was being removed from the palace immediately and not allowed to speak to him for the foreseeable future? And then when questioned about it was a complete and utter jackass?” America turned away from him, running a hand through his hair and clutching at the strands. “He doesn’t love me.” It ached in his chest.

“Alfred, that's not true." Canada touched his shoulder.

“He’s never said it. Not once.” He rubbed at his hair. “Maybe I’ve just been deluding myself. Seeing what I wanted. Maybe he was just enjoying me like he’s done to countless others.” He put his face in his hands again.

“Oh, I highly doubt you’re that good in bed for him to deal with your mouth and attitude,” Canada teased.

America elbowed him. “This is serious, Matt. And how would you know?”

“Because Francis has gone on and on about the arduous task of taking and training virgins in one's bed.” Canada shrugged. “You two came up one time and Francis admitted he was surprised at first that England let Vicente out of his bed in exchange for you... and that you've been the only one since.” Canada flushed. “Apparently in the past it was not uncommon for him and Arthur to take several people into their bed at once, even when they were sharing one.” His eye twitched. “Apparently one time they managed seven at once.” He shuddered. “I was given entirely too much detail.”

“He said that to you?” America rubbed at his cheek. “And maybe I’m just better than those other guys,” he grumbled.

“That’s a bit closer to the annoying cocksure brother, I know.” Canada smiled. “Plus, he has shown you things he hasn't to others right? Francis was complaining about some tower room?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not about that.”

Canada sighed. “Have you ever consideredthat Arthur might have a different love language then you?”

“I can’t even begin to figure Arthur out right now.” Canada rested his chin on his knees and watched him. “Not that he’s giving me the chance. The guards are probably looking for me by now.” He rubbed his cheek again. “Now he can go back to... orgies or whatever he and Francis got up to. And he can face the war alone like he wants to...” 

“For the love of...” Canada sighed. “Francis is right  _ vous êtes tous les deux idiots _ .”

“Who you calling an idiot?” America said.

“Both of you. Arthur for taking so long to put words together and you for thinking you could push it out of him.”

“Can’t push something out that’s not there. You should go before you get in trouble for talking to me.” 

Canada pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maybe you are the bigger idiot.”

“I can’t always be the one to bend. Tell Arthur he can find me on the airfield. I’ll wait an hour.” America pushed himself up off the floor, sniffing. 

“Alfred…” Canada grabbed at his pant leg. “Are you all right?”

“No,” America said, walking away and the fabric tugged out of Canada’s hand. “I’m sure we’ll see each other. Don’t get hurt, Matt.”

“Alfred.” Canada rocked to his feet, and grabbed the back of his coat, and yanked him around, pulling his brother into a hug.

America was still for a moment, but then hugged him back. “I’m serious, be careful.”

“I will. You need to as well. I'll see you soon.”

“Bye, Matt.”

***

A knock. “Arthur? They say you will not allow anyone in, so they sent me. So open up,  _ mon ami _ .” 

“The bloody door isn't locked,” England grunted. Upon entrance France was greeted with an unnerving sight. Stuff was everywhere, books and papers scattered about, chairs upside down. The couch itself was flipped over, England currently laying on its back which was flat against the floor. Rumpled clothes and loose buttons, one shoe was missing. The British nation was staring at the opposite wall, not even glancing at Francis as he walked in.

“ _ Mon dieu!  _ What happened?” France picked his way through the mess to stand over England. “You look terrible.”

“I know.”

France crouched down. “You did not look like this the last time you declared war.”

“No.”

“So, I ask again. What happened?” France sighed as England continued to stare at the wall. “I saw our dear  _ Amerique _ storming out to a car. I wager it has something to do with that. You should not be antagonizing him.”

“He left me.”

France hesitated, settling himself down onto the floor. He tucked a lock of blond hair behind his ear. “As in he is going off to cool his head and will be back? Or...” France didn’t finish the sentence as though he didn’t want to entertain the notion.

“He will probably ask you to help him find a new lover.”

“You are being ridiculous. I put all of my powers of persuasion to seducing him long ago because I knew it would annoy you and he brushed off even my charms because he wanted it to be you. It’s not possible that he left you.”

“I'm sure Matthew will confirm it he is probably still speaking to him,” England said flatly, still staring at the wall. There was a crack. He needed to fix that. 

Sighing, France looked around at the destruction. “Of course you left catching that whirlwind to him. Your current demeanor and the state of this room do not tell the same story... unless, did Alfred make this mess? Are you afraid to go after him?”

“No!” England bolted up. “Alfred would never do this!” The need to defend him overrode his current state. “Alfred would never purposefully cause me harm.”

France held up his hands, then slowly lowered them onto England’s shoulders. “Take a deep breath. In that case, I do not think I have ever seen such a wake of destruction when a lover has left your bed before. If that’s even what happened.” France shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it. England deflated, moving back on his side on the back of the couch. Eyes hot as he played over the memories again.

“He is gone and he's not coming back,” England choked, a broken retelling falling past his lips.

“Do you have any reason to believe these were not just things said in anger?” France asked after several minutes.

“He left even before the guards came back.”

“That could mean anything.” He patted England on the side. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s inconvenient timing, but...” He looked down at England, lips pressing together as though he were trying to hold words in.

“Francis what do I do?” It hadn’t hit him until America had left.  _ Left  _ him. Then it hit him full force. Knocking the breath out him. His cheeks were wet.

“This is death by a thousand cuts as Yao would say. The question of what to do, frankly, depends.” France cleared his throat. “He wanted something from you and you withheld it, or don’t have it to give.”

“I didn't know,” he whispered.

“Didn’t know?” France blinked at him in confusion. England rubbed at his cheeks harshly as the tears only came faster. Of course he hadn't realized it until after. America had been right. He had been comfortable with the fact that America was always around. He hadn't needed to face his emotions. He wiped at the snot that was leaking from him. 

“I didn't." He hiccuped before looking to Francis as another fresh wave of tears came over him. “I... I am in love with Alfred.”

A wave of emotions crossed France’s face. Surprise came first, then humor as though England were pulling an elaborate joke, and then sympathy. “There were many things you could have said... that reason was not one I considered. I went back and forth on why you kept him around...” He shook his head. “Arthur  _ est amoureux...”  _ His voice sounded amazed.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” 

France frowned at him. “I’ve never known you to surrender willingly. If there is anything worth fighting for it’s love.”

“He left Francis. Beyond pissed. And I'm at war.”

“And you are just going to let him leave you? The last time he broke with you, you brought an entire army down on his head.”

“That was different. He's not going to believe me.”

France tapped his chin, thinking. “He’s going to want to... but once bitten...  _ Être dans la galère _ .” France patted England on the shoulder. “I think you will have to do the most difficult thing of all for you,  _ mon ami,  _ let him in.”

“Go away.”

“I can’t leave you like this.” France squeezed England’s shoulder. “Love is not a weakness, even if you did tell me that quite forcefully once.”

“You're not being helpful.”

France sighed and crossed his arms. “I’m trying to help you. You just don’t like the answer. Then again, I am assuming that since you love him you want him back. Is that not the case? I can also be a shoulder to cry on if you prefer?” 

“I can't tell him now.”

“I would advise against it, however, a conciliatory gesture would likely help. You should send him something.”

“He won't believe anything I do right now.”

“You know him better than I, but giving him space could widen the gap.”

“So what, I should send him gifts? That’s bollocks advice.”

“I don’t know. He seems to like gifts. Haven’t you ever gotten him anything?”

“Of course I have.” England got to his feet, moving away from France. He had just had an emotion reeling hour and France wanted to talk about this shit. He was done.

“Arthur...” France said. England looked back at him. “It may be selfish of me to say, but I hope you find a way to win him back. The war will be much easier with him than without him, even if he can be loud and stubborn.”

“I know,” England muttered. “I am going to lay down. I'm sure Matthew is wandering around somewhere.”

“I’ll fetch someone to clean up the mess. I expect you to come and drink with me when my hour passes.”

“We can drink here.” England sighed, closing the door of his bedroom behind him. He needed to be alone.

His entire world had just changed and he was afraid it wasn't for the better.

America was gone and only darkness lay ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of Book 4! We're hard at work on preparing the story that takes place during World War II. Thank you so much for reading and know that there is still more to come!


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